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Plioto. Underwood & Undt 
MARK TWAIN AND ONE OF HIS PETS 



REAL AMERICANS 



By 



MARY H. WADE 



With Illustrations 




BOSTON 
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 

1922 



£665 
V 



Copyright, 1922, 
By Little, Brown, and Company. 



All rights reserved 



Published September, 1922 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

SEP 27*22 

©CI.A681976 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Theodore Roosevelt i 

The Man Who Overcame 

Herbert Clark Hoover 66 

The Savior of Helpless Children 

Leonard Wood 114 

The Devoted Patriot 

John Burroughs 153 

Nature's Lover 

Mark Twain 192 

The Giver of Mirth 

Edward Everett Hale 242 

The Man Who Lent a Hand 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Mark Twain and one of his pets . . Frontispiece 

Colonel Roosevelt addressing fifteen hundred 
of his supporters at Sagamore Hill . . page 58 

Secretary of Commerce Hoover "listening in" 
on his radio set in his office at the Department 
of Commerce " 112 

General Wood visits President Harding at the 
White House "150 

John Burroughs listening to his feathered friends " 186 
Doctor Hale at work in his library . . . " 266 



REAL AMERICANS 

THEODORE ROOSEVELT 

The Man Who Overcame 

YEARS ago a young couple were living on 
East Twentieth Street, New York City. 
They had much to make them happy : they had 
money a-plenty and every comfort they could 
wish for; they had a little daughter, Con- 
stance, to make sunshine in the home. And 
then, one autumn day — it was October 27, 
1858 — a new treasure came into their keeping. 
It was a baby son. 

"He shall bear his father's name," the par- 
ents decided. 

So it came to pass that this child was called 
Theodore Roosevelt, Junior. 

While Theodore and Constance were both 
very young, their brother Elliott and their 
sister Corinne were added to the happy family. 
The four children made it a lively household. 



REAL AMERICANS 



Little Theodore, for his part, was ever ready 
to join in any frolic, though his body was frail 
and sickly. Indeed, the lad suffered from 
asthma almost from babyhood, and it was 
often a pitiful sight to see his white face as he 
sat bent over, struggling for breath. 

When he was still a tiny little fellow the 
Civil War began to rage, but his wise and ten- 
der parents did not allow him to hear much 
about the sad happenings of those days. 

With a light heart, therefore, he played, 
read stories of adventure, and spent many an 
hour among the pets owned by his aunt next 
door. Such a fascinating home this aunt had! 
There were parrots of beautiful plumage; 
there were pheasants and peacocks in the big 
back yard ; and there was a wild-eyed monkey 
which was allowed to climb as it would up 
and down the posts of the piazza. 

Theodore's father believed that games and 
frolics were the best things possible to make 
his children have strong minds and bodies 
when they grew up. But he did not spoil 
them; they were taught to obey instantly. 

Once — just once — little Theodore had a 
whipping at his father's hands. He had done 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 3 

something very naughty indeed — he had bitten 
the arm of one of his sisters. 

The moment he had done it, he knew how 
bad he had been and ran for refuge, first into 
the back yard and from there to the kitchen 
where the cook was getting bread-dough ready 
for baking. Grabbing a lump of dough, the 
boy crept under the table, and watched, ready 
to defend himself. 

And now his father appeared in the room, 
asking if his naughty little son had been seen 
there. Did the cook "tell on" Theodore? Not 
in words; but her eyes turned in his direction. 
And then? Well, Mr. Roosevelt got down on 
his hands and knees to seize the boy, only to 
receive a blow from the ball of dough which 
Theodore threw at him and then scampered 
off, out of the kitchen and up the stairs, to be 
caught before he had traveled far by his 
father's strong hands. The whipping which 
he well deserved and never forgot followed at 
once. 

Theodore was so delicate that he was not 
sent to school with his brothers and sisters. 
Moreover, he was often obliged to entertain 
himself with his books while they were en- 



REAL AMERICANS 



gaged in some lively play. He loved reading 
so much that with a story before him he could 
forget that he was fighting for breath, as he 
lived in thought with his favorite heroes. 

Though the boy was nervous and delicate, 
his brothers and sisters looked up to him in 
many ways. To begin with, they thought he 
was a marvelous story-teller. He could 
imagine such wonderful people and animals 
and happenings! They would listen almost 
breathlessly as he spun tale after tale out of 
the contents of his busy young brain. 

When summer came the family went out in 
the country to live and there, in the fresh air 
and sunshine, Theodore romped and made dis- 
coveries in the woods and fields. He had a 
love for everything alive. He watched the 
birds. He studied the ways of snakes lind 
bugs, toads and frogs. He took delight in 
making all sorts of collections of what he 
found. 

One day he came upon a litter of white 
mice. To his boy-nature they seemed very 
precious. 

"I will save them," he determined, and 
forthwith carried them home and put them 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 5 

in the ice chest. Alas! when his mother dis- 
covered the mice there, she promptly took 
them out, to the bitter sorrow of her young 
son when he learned what she had done. 

"The loss to science! The loss to science!" 
he cried angrily. Evidently he believed the 
world might have gained worth-while knowl- 
edge through his study of the ways of those 
mice. 

At another time he went out collecting 
specimens with one of his cousins. The two 
boys soon filled their pockets and the bags they 
carried with what they had found. But after 
this was done they came upon two toads dif- 
ferent from any they had ever seen before, and 
consequently very valuable in their young 
eyes. How were they to take them home? 

A happy idea seized them: each of them 
would put a toad on the top of his head under 
his hat and carry it in this way. Sad to say, 
they had gone only a little way with their 
treasures when they met a lady whom they 
knew and to whom they must pay respect. So 
off came their hats, and away hopped the toads 
into the thick grass, never to be seen again by 
the young nature students. Theodore was 



REAL AMERICANS 



doubtless very unhappy over this "loss to 
science." 

Such lively times as the lad had in the 
country, even though he spent many a day and 
night in coughing and struggling for breath. 
There were hunts after birds' nests and wood- 
chucks. There were rides on wagons piled 
high with new mown hay. There was the 
merry task of helping harvest the apples. 
There were wild frolics with his brother and 
sisters and with the cousins who came to visit 
them. One of the best sports, no doubt, was 
playing at Indians, when the children gathered 
poke berries, and staining their faces with its 
juice, pretended they were "truly-ruly" the 
fiercest of red men and women. 

Strangely enough, Theodore did not discov- 
er that he could not see as well as he should 
till he was thirteen years old. He had been 
missing the sight of many things without 
knowing it. 

The discovery came about in this way: he 
had been given his first gun and was out hunt- 
ing. To his surprise he found that his com- 
panions were shooting at birds which he did 
not even see. When his parents were told of 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 7 

this, they at once had the boy's eyes examined 
and found he needed spectacles. When these 
were put on, great was Theodore's joy on be- 
ing able to look upon more of nature's won- 
ders than he had dreamed existed. Specimen 
hunting now had greater pleasure for him than 
ever before. 

Long before this — when he was only nine 
years old — he had begun his first diary. Like 
many other children as young as himself, 
however, he often let days pass without 
writing in it. 

When Theodore was eleven years old Mr. 
Roosevelt took his family to Europe for a visit. 
You imagine, possibly, that his sickly little son 
was delighted to cross the ocean and see 
strange sights in other countries. But no! He 
was homesick from the beginning to the 
end of his wanderings. Little did he care for 
the sight of grand buildings and lofty moun- 
tains, and of walks through famous picture 
galleries. 

He was much interested, however, when he 
had a chance to visit a museum of natural his- 
tory. And no wonder! Why, he had already 
started a museum of his own in the New York 



8 REAL AMERICANS 

home and called it the "Roosevelt Museum of 
Natural History." 

Before that trip to Europe Theodore had 
begun to write his first book. It was not a 
long or remarkable one by any means. It con- 
tained only a few pages, but in it the lad 
wrote zealously about different insects he had 
found. 

Sometimes, during his stay in Europe, he 
wished for the sight of a little girl friend and 
playmate, Edith Carow. And once, in Paris, 
when his mother showed him Edith's picture, 
the eleven-year-old boy wrote in his diary that 
"her face stirred up in me homesickness, and 
longing for the past which will come again 
never aback again." 

When the Roosevelt family returned to 
New York the loving father thought of some- 
thing which might be of help to the sickly 
little son : a gymnasium should be fitted up for 
him in the house. 

He talked kindly but very seriously to Theo- 
dore at this time. He spoke of the delicate 
body, and of the lively mind that dwelt in it. 
That mind could not grow as it should unless 
the body were healthy. 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 9 

"It depends on you to build up the body," 
the father said. 

Theodore was set thinking. The brave 
knights and adventurers whom he had read 
about had had strong bodies. Otherwise they 
could not have done what they did. 

"I must have a strong body myself," he 
said, "if I am to succeed." 

He now began to take regular exercises in 
his gymnasium with one big, steady purpose. 
Slowly but surely the boy grew better, though 
he still had many a struggle. 

One day he read a poem that set him think- 
ing particularly hard. The poem was about 
a duke who was satisfied with pretending to 
be like others of his family before him who 
had been truly noble. 

"I will not be satisfied with dreaming about 
being great," young Theodore promised him- 
self. "I will strive to be great." 

Strange as it may seem to us to-day, Theo- 
dore was a timid lad even when he had en- 
tered his teens. But now that his will to 
succeed was aroused, he determined to over- 
come his timidity. Shortly afterwards he had 
a chance to show courage when his father sent 



io REAL AMERICANS 

him to Moosehead Lake in Maine, hoping that 
the fine air there would make him stronger. 

After he left the train there was a long stage- 
coach ride before him. In the stagecoach two 
strong, lively boys rode with him. 

Looking Theodore over, they decided : "We 
can have some sport with this pale, thin city 
fellow. We can easily do him up." 

They succeeded in short order. They began 
by teasing their companion till at last a fight 
began, first one of the boys tackling Theodore, 
then the other. He didn't act the coward 
in the least, yet he was no match for either 
lad. 

How did he feel when the fight was over? 
Well, after spending a great deal of time con- 
sidering what had happened, he said to him- 
self, "I certainly must make my body strong." 

But what could he do which he had not yet 
done? Aha! the happy thought came that he 
might take boxing lessons. The result was 
that on his return to New York he began train- 
ing in boxing under an ex-prizefighter. 

The following winter Theodore went a sec- 
ond time to Europe with his family. On this 
visit he had a trip on the Nile River in Egypt, 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT n 

but what interested him most was not the Pyra- 
mids which he saw there, but the specimens he 
collected when riding donkey-back along the 
river banks. 

Work — steady work — was awaiting young 
Theodore when he returned to New York, be- 
cause he must prepare for college. He was 
fifteen now, and quite a sizable youth, as his 
body had developed a good deal during the 
past year. 

An excellent tutor was secured to teach him. 
And during the next three years the youth 
studied faithfully. At the same time he did 
not lose sight of the needs of his body; so he 
still took boxing lessons and exercised in his 
gymnasium each winter, while his summers 
were spent in the country and at Oyster Bay 
on Long Island. There he went on hunting 
trips, bringing down his game with sure shot; 
he fished in the waters of the Sound; he ex- 
plored fields and woods; he learned the names 
and characteristics of the wild flowers in the 
country around ; he studied the birds ; he sailed 
and he rowed. Best of all, he steadily im- 
proved in health. 

In his eighteenth year he entered Harvard 



12 REAL AMERICANS 

College with a "will to win," as his old friend, 
Jacob Riis, has said of him. 

Already he had shown that will in his sports. 
He had won the position of leader in the little 
company of brother and cousins at Oyster Bay. 
He had won in the battle with ill health. He 
had become victor in the fight with fear. 

But along what special line did he intend 
to win while at college? To begin with, he 
meant to succeed in his studies and particu- 
larly to learn everything possible about natu- 
ral history, because he was then saying to him- 
self, "I want to become a professor of that 
science." 

Because he belonged to a wealthy old New 
York family, he was invited to join the leading 
college societies and clubs which many youths 
considered it the greatest good fortune to enter. 
But he was not deeply interested in these. His 
goal was the mastery of certain studies, and he 
had hobbies which he wished to gratify. 

And so, in order to study more faithfully 
and follow his hobbies more freely, he settled 
himself in some rooms in a private house out- 
side the college grounds where he was free to 
treasure the specimens he gathered in his 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 13 

tramps into the country. Among these speci- 
mens, by the way, were several live snakes and 
a turtle. 

"A queer duck!" he was doubtless called by 
many of his college mates. Nevertheless he 
soon became a favorite among them because 
of his love of fun and his spirit of comrade- 
ship. 

He was far from being what college youths 
call a "grind," because he did a great deal be- 
sides study and collect specimens. He still 
took boxing lessons; he rode horseback; he 
practiced target shooting; he played polo; he 
drove about in a dogcart; he danced at gather- 
ings of young people he had become ac- 
quainted with out at Chestnut Hill. 

Besides all these interests, he started a new 
club among the college students and began 
writing a history of the War of 181 2, which 
brought him high praise in Great Britain as 
well as in the United States when it was after- 
wards finished and published. 

During young Roosevelt's first Christmas 
vacation, while at Harvard, he went on a 
camping trip to the Maine woods. There he 
became acquainted with Bill Sewall, a well- 



14 REAL AMERICANS 

known guide in that wild country. A bearded, 
powerfully built man was Bill Sewall, with 
big mind and heart. The college student fresh 
from city life found much to admire in this 
backwoodsman. 

"He is like one of the brave vikings who 
were the heroes of my boyhood," thought 
Roosevelt. 

He also thought, "After winning the friend- 
ship of such a noble-hearted man as Bill 
Sewall, I can never be tempted to be a snob." 
Bill Sewall's nephew, Wilmot Dow, was also 
a frequent companion of the young student 
during those delightful camping days in 
Maine. 

Six weeks after entering college, Theodore 
showed his mates that he was no weakling in 
spirit. It happened in this way: there was 
great excitement in the air over the coming 
election of a new President, and the Harvard 
freshmen who were in favor of Mr. Hayes 
had a torchlight procession through the streets. 
As they marched along there came a sudden 
shout from a second-story window, "Shut up, 
you blooming Freshmen." 

The words were followed by a shower of 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 15 

potatoes thrown down upon the marchers' 
heads. What could they do? They were not 
able to reach the fellow who was insulting 
them, however angry they might be at his 
meanness in attacking them when they could 
not defend themselves. 

"I can show him what I think of him, at any 
rate," decided young Theodore Roosevelt, as 
he stepped out of line, and throwing down his 
torch, shook his fist at the potato thrower. 

"Who is that high-spirited little chap?" the 
students asked each other at the time. They 
quickly learned that the still delicate-looking 
youth who did not hesitate to show his anger 
at meanness was Theodore Roosevelt, Junior, 
of New York City. 

Theodore's father had always been inter- 
ested in helping others, and his young son 
wished to follow in his footsteps. No doubt it 
was for this reason that Theodore undertook 
to teach a Sunday-school class in an Episcopal 
mission school soon after he entered college. 
Theodore started out enthusiastically — he was 
always enthusiastic in what he did — to teach 
the boys and girls in his charge what he be- 
lieved was right and what was wrong. It 



16 REAL AMERICANS 

happened that on a certain Sunday one of his 
boys appeared with a black eye. 

"How did you get it?" the young teacher 
asked severely. 

"Fighting," was the answer. 

On further questioning the boy explained 
that another lad, who was sitting beside his 
sister, kept pinching her. He wasn't going to 
stand any such treatment of his sister, so he 
pitched into him. That was the beginning of 
the fight, and the black eye was the end. 

What do you suppose Theodore did then? 

He said promptly, "You did perfectly 
right," and handed the boy a dollar as a re- 
ward. 

When the story was carried to the lead- 
ing officers of the Sunday school they were 
greatly shocked. They had already noticed 
that Theodore, who belonged to the Dutch 
Reformed Church, had not been careful to 
observe all their Episcopalian forms. But 
now to reward a boy for getting a black eye in 
a fight! It displeased them greatly, and they 
said so. 

The result was that Theodore gave up his 
class and took another in the Dutch Reformed 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 17 

Church, where he taught the rest of the time 
he was in college. 

In his second college year a great sorrow 
fell upon the young man — his father died. 

"I tried faithfully to do what father had 
done," he afterwards told his friend, Jacob 
Riis, "but I did it poorly." 

"In the end," he went on, "I found out that 
we have each to work in his own way to do our 
best; and when I struck mine, though it dif- 
fered from his, yet I was able to follow the 
same line and do what he would have me do." 

In Theodore's last year at Harvard he be- 
came betrothed to a young girl, Alice Hatha- 
way Lee, whom he had often visited at 
Chestnut Hill. 

During this same year he set the whole 
senior class to jumping rope! It came about 
in this way: ever on the lookout for new kinds 
of physical exercise, he had decided that his 
muscles could be made stronger by jumping 
rope. And so, because he was enthusiastic and 
earnest in whatever he did, his whole class 
caught his spirit and followed his example. 

At last the day arrived when Theodore 
Roosevelt graduated, standing twenty-second 



18 REAL AMERICANS 

in a class of one hundred and seventy. This 
rank was sufficiently high for him to enter the 
Phi Beta Kappa Society to which only su- 
perior scholars have even been admitted. 

What had he gained in college? He had 
done well in his studies, particularly in natu- 
ral history though he had long since given up 
the idea of becoming a professor of that 
science. He had made many friends. He had 
grown stronger in mind and body. He had 
been the editor of a college paper and held 
important offices in college societies. 

But, after all, the most important thing he 
had accomplished was this: he had discovered 
that the greatest thing in the world is to make 
it better for others. A little while before he 
graduated, so his friend and classmate, 
William Roscoe Thayer, has written, he said 
to him, "I am going to try to help the cause 
of government in New York City; I don't 
know exactly how." 

"All I can do at present in helping the gov- 
ernment won't fill all my time," he must have 
added to himself, for he began the study of 
law in his uncle's office shortly after he left 
Harvard. 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 19 

The more he learned about the political life 
of his city, the more evil he found it, and the 
more earnest he became in his desire to do 
something to make it cleaner. 

"It is very foolish for that brilliant young 
man to enter into politics," some of Theodore's 
friends were already saying. 

Others declared: "He will spoil his chance 
of making a mark in the world. He should 
leave politics to people like saloon-keepers and 
others who are no better." 

But not so thought Theodore Roosevelt. 
"The better people are, the more interest they 
should take in good government," he told him- 
self. "They should not let selfish and wicked 
people run our city and our State." 

And so, partly because he wished to show his 
right to take part in the government, and 
partly because he felt he could help to make it 
better, the young man accepted the office of a 
New York assemblyman. 

Before this, on his twenty-second birthday, 
he and Alice Lee were happily married. 

As a member of the New York Assembly, 
Roosevelt gave earnest attention to the ques- 
tions that came up at the State House in Al- 



20 REAL AMERICANS 

bany. Many of these questions seemed very 
important to the young man because he saw 
more and more clearly how many wrong 
things had been brought about through the 
work of dishonest politicians. 

"Every decent person ought to fight against 
such wrong," thought Roosevelt. 

He, for one, was determined to fight with all 
his might, and fight he did. When he had 
been only a short time in office he laid bare 
different evils which had been allowed to 
exist. He showed up the wickedness of a dis- 
honest judge and caused him to lose his office. 
He exposed other enemies of good govern- 
ment. 

Of course he made enemies among people 
who feared what his honesty and love of jus- 
tice were able to accomplish. Though these 
enemies tried their best to harm Roosevelt, 
the great mass of the people believed in him. 
They said to each other : "Here is a man who is 
working for our good. He should continue in 
the Assembly where he can fight against bad 
government." 

For this reason he was elected to office 
again, and then again. Unfortunately, how- 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 21 

ever, he sometimes trusted to his own judg- 
ment alone, and was not always ready to take 
council with others who were good men yet 
did not have exactly the same ideas as himself. 

"It's a shame," thought some of his best 
friends, "that Theodore Roosevelt is getting 
to have the 'big head.' " 

But he soon waked up to see where he had 
been wrong. "No one can do as much by 
himself," he decided, "as by working with 
others," and he did not forget the lesson he 
had learned. 

In his busy life as an assemblyman, there 
were several pleasant vacations. The pleas- 
antest of these probably came in the summer 
time during his first term of office. He had 
been quite ill, and life in the outdoors, he con- 
sidered, would be his best medicine. Where 
should he go? To the Maine woods where he 
had always enjoyed himself and gained 
strength? 

No, the great West was calling loudly to 
him: "Come out here and live in the wilder- 
ness where herds of buffaloes are roaming 
freely, and where you can have plenty of ad- 
venture among wild Indians and cowboys." 



22 REAL AMERICANS 

The young man heeded the call. Weak and 
pale from illness, he boarded a train bound 
for Dakota, and early one September morning 
he landed at a tiny settlement called Medora 
in what have been called the "Bad Lands" of 
Dakota. 

A rough place it was, and the few people 
to be met there were quite as rough as the 
place, as Roosevelt quickly discovered. 

And they? Well, when they heard that the 
New York fellow in "city clothes" and wear- 
ing spectacles had come out there to hunt 
buffaloes, they must have laughed. As for the 
guide he asked for, no one knew of any. 

There was a man named Ferris, however, 
who owned a ranch not far away and who had 
driven over to Medora to buy some necessary 
supplies. He must have taken a liking to the 
spectacled stranger, because he said, "Drive 
home with me." 

Roosevelt accepted the invitation. After a 
few miles' ride he drew up with his new ac- 
quaintance before a log hut consisting of one 
room, in which Ferris and two other men kept 
house. There was little furniture except three 
chairs and a table, with three bunks to sleep in 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 23 

built against the wall. The guest, though used 
to every comfort in his eastern home, quickly- 
adjusted himself to the manner of living of 
his hosts. 

They felt curious at first as to how the slim 
young city fellow would act in his new sur- 
roundings. They must therefore have been 
surprised to see how handy he made himself 
about the house and in the care of the horses 
which they kept in a corral nearby. More- 
over, they were pleased at finding him "good 
company" and not at all "stuck up." 

Nevertheless, when he told them that he 
longed to go after buffaloes, they wondered if 
he could endure long hours of riding over the 
rough country. They themselves were not 
eager for the hunt, because buffaloes were 
scarce thereabouts. Yet when Roosevelt 
showed how determined he was, Ferris said, 
"I will take you hunting." 

Accordingly, the two started off early one 
morning, the ranchman with little hope of suc- 
cess, but his untried companion full of hope 
and ready for any hardship if he could only 
bring down some big game. 

Three days of hard riding followed. The 



24 REAL AMERICANS 

scanty meals of hard biscuit soaked in the 
water of muddy pools furnished the meals of 
the hunters. They slept at night under the 
stars with their horses' saddles, to which the 
animals were hitched, for pillows. They met 
fierce half-breed Indians, who looked savage 
enough to wish for their scalps. They were 
overtaken by a chill rain which increased their 
discomforts. 

What had they gained? They had sighted 
several buffaloes, losing the track of the first 
one as he fled over a steep hill and getting 
within shooting range of three others which 
they failed to bring down. 

Later on they had come upon the same 
buffaloes and Roosevelt again shot at one of 
them, which he had wounded before. But, in 
the faint light of the rising moon, he missed 
his aim and his prey turned upon him. At the 
same time his horse leaped suddenly with 
fright and struck the rifle in his rider's hands 
with his rearing head. The rifle, in turn, 
struck Roosevelt's forehead, making a deep 
gash from which the blood flowed in a stream. 

And now the maddened buffalo turned upon 
Ferris who escaped almost by a hair's breadth 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 25 

and then shot at the animal twice only to miss 
his aim each time as the buffalo moved away 
into the night. 

Did Roosevelt wish to give up at the end of 
those three days of unsuccessful hunting? By 
no means. His "fighting blood" was up and 
his weariness forgotten as a fresh start was 
made on the fourth morning away from the 
ranch. 

His reward came shortly when he killed a 
huge bull buffalo. 

By this time his companion was saying in 
surprise to himself, "A young aristocrat from 
the east can have as much courage and per- 
sistence as any cowboy on the western plains." 

When Roosevelt's vacation came to an end, 
his love of the wild life he had experienced 
was so great that he wished for more of it. 

Not only this: he wished to buy the log 
cabin at Chimney Butte and have it for one of 
his homes. To be sure, rattlesnakes crept 
through the tall grass of the country around, 
wolves prowled near-by at night, and Indians 
might be met with at any moment. But the 
thought of possible danger added to the zest 
of the hunting trips to be had in that wild 



26 REAL AMERICANS 

country. And so, when the sale was agreed 
upon, the young man returned to New York, 
delighted with his purchase. 

Busy years followed. After Roosevelt had 
entered on his third term of office and had 
made a name for himself in his State, sorrow 
fell upon him. First, his loved mother was 
taken away, and a few hours afterwards his 
wife died, leaving a day-old baby to comfort 
the young father. 

How was Roosevelt to bear such heavy 
losses? Should he give up work and brood 
over his sorrow? 

"By no means," he thought. "I will keep on 
with my work, for that is the best thing I can 
do." 

Consequently he strove hard to help the gov- 
ernor, Grover Cleveland, in bringing about 
certain needed reforms; and afterwards he 
was sent to Chicago to take part in a conven- 
tion gathered there to nominate a Republican 
President of the United States. 

He did faithful work at the convention 
though he made enemies because what he be- 
lieved was the right course was different from 
that of many others of the delegates. 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 27 

It grieved him very much that he should 
have won their ill will, and he was distressed 
to such an extent, that when the convention 
came to an end he was quite ready to carry 
out a plan which he had first considered 
when the loss of his wife and mother fell upon 
him. 

"I will leave city life behind me," he prom- 
ised himself. "I will again seek the wilds of 
North Dakota for rest and the refreshing of 
my spirit." 

A few days after his decision was made he 
was back in the great West among the ranch- 
men he had become acquainted with on his 
first trip there. The next month, however, he 
was called back to New York on business, and 
while there he wrote a letter to Bill Sewall, 
the strong-bodied, big-hearted backwoodsman 
with whom he had camped in the Maine 
woods. In his letter Roosevelt asked Sewall 
whether he and Wilmot Dow would like to 
run a cow ranch with him in the wilds of 
Dakota. 

Not long afterwards the young New Yorker 
and the two backwoodsmen were enjoying life 
together on a second ranch which Roosevelt 



28 REAL AMERICANS 

had purchased on the little Missouri River 
about forty miles from Chimney Butte, and 
called Elkhorn. 

There, on the edge of a bluff facing the 
river, a comfortable house was built out of 
Cottonwood logs. 

The nearest neighbors lived many miles 
away. But little was the master of Elkhorn 
troubled by this. From his veranda he could 
watch the cattle grazing near by. And besides, 
once in a while a deer passed that way, while 
in winter even wolves and lynxes came stalk- 
ing past the ranch. 

The housekeeping in which Roosevelt 
merrily shared was very simple till the time 
came when Sewall and Dow married and 
brought their wives to Elkhorn. Then what 
a change came about when the two women 
took charge of the home! How delicious the 
puddings and the jellies they made out of wild 
plums and buffalo-berries seemed to the men 
of the household! 

It fell to their lot to supply meat for the 
table, so there was many a hunt after deer and 
antelopes and other game, and sometimes the 
hunters returned with the carcass of an elk, or 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 29 

perhaps a goodly supply of bear or buffalo 
meat. 

The hunting trips after game were play 
compared with the long rides after the cattle 
when storms were raging, and the round-ups 
when the herd had to be gathered in from dis- 
tances many miles away. There were no 
fences in that wild country, and the only way 
the ranchmen had of knowing their own cattle 
was by the particular mark given by the brand- 
ing iron. Most exciting and dangerous times 
of all were when the cattle took fright and 
stampeded. 

One of Roosevelt's hardest experiences was 
caused by such a stampede. A heavy thunder- 
storm had come up in the night while he was 
away from home on a round-up. The cattle 
were seized with fright and fled in all direc- 
tions. The ground shook under their feet as 
they thundered along. Yet Roosevelt, sitting 
on his pony in their midst, was cool and col- 
lected, though at any moment he might have 
been crushed to death. 

On he pressed and still on, trying to keep 
up with the fleeing cattle. He was thrown 
from his pony more than once as the rough 



3 o REAL AMERICANS 

ground made his brave little animal turn sud- 
den somersaults. 

In his course he forded a dangerous river. 
Every moment danger stared him in the 
face. And when at last his work was finished 
and the cattle brought safely back, he had 
been in the saddle almost steadily for forty 
hours! 

This was the man who had been a weak, 
sickly boy, but who had become strong and 
enduring through his own determined will. 
This was the same man who had been a timid 
lad whose heart beat fast when other boys 
sought to bully him. 

How had he conquered fear? By acting 
as if he were not afraid, so he afterwards 
wrote. By so acting, he believed, one can 
drive fear out of the heart. 

Many of the rough men of that wild western 
country called Roosevelt a "tenderfoot" when 
they first met him. But when they saw that he 
could bear hardships as well as they; when 
they found that he took delight in hunting the 
fiercest wild creatures of the plains and moun- 
tains, and that even a meeting with a grizzly 
had no terror for him, they decided that the 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 31 

term "tenderfoot" did not fit this young New- 
Yorker. 

He made many lifelong friends among those 
rough westerners, and though there were law- 
less characters among them, he treated them so 
justly and kindly that he seldom met with 
trouble. 

Nearly three years crowded full of adven- 
ture passed by for the young ranchman. Dur- 
ing this time there were several visits to New 
York from which he always gladly returned to 
his free, adventurous life in the West. 

But one September day in the year 1886, as 
he sat quietly in his log house at Elkhorn, he 
read in a newspaper that the Independent 
Party of New York City had nominated him 
for mayor. 

Then and there he must have said to him- 
self something like this, "As mayor I could do 
a great work fighting against wrong condi- 
tions in New York." 

At any rate, he at once made ready for a 
journey east, where he stayed till the election 
had taken place and he found that he had 
failed to receive it. 

Shortly afterwards he went to Europe, and 



32 REAL AMERICANS 

there, in London, he was married, December 
2, 1886, to Edith Kermit Carow whose picture, 
you remember, once stirred him, a sickly little 
lad in Europe, with homesickness. 

The happy couple stayed in Europe for sev- 
eral months, after which they came back to 
the United States to live in a charming home 
which Mr. Roosevelt had built on Sagamore 
Hill near the shores of Oyster Bay, Long 
Island. There were beautiful trees around the 
home, and near by were hills and dales and 
the clear waters of the Sound. 

Here, whenever he pleased, the young 
master of the home could devote himself to 
writing. He had already given the world the 
valuable history he had begun in college, and 
during his ranch life he had managed to put 
in spare hours penning his hunting experi- 
ences in the West. And now that he had more 
leisure hours, he wrote more about these, and 
was also busy on a life of Gouverneur Morris, 
and on a book concerning practical politics. 

He was still careful to take plenty of exer- 
cise outdoors, playing many a game of polo, 
fox-hunting with his hounds, walking and 
driving. Then, too, there were many trips 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 33 

over to New York City, only thirty miles 
distant, where he took a small but interesting 
part in politics. 

From time to time the West called him, say- 
ing, "Come out again into the wilderness 
where you have had such pleasure and such 
sport." 

Then for a few weeks, books would be laid 
aside, a good-by said to the Long Island home, 
and Roosevelt would travel back to the haunts 
he loved, to take part in a round-up, or a hunt- 
ing trip among the Rockies. 

Soon after his return from one of these 
trips he was made very happy by the birth of 
his little son, Theodore. 

"What shall be my life work?" Roosevelt 
was asking himself by this time. He was now 
well known to Americans as a forceful writer, 
a courageous hunter, and a man who had done 
good work for his State. But having a strong 
will and great energy, he wondered how he 
could make his life still more valuable to his 
fellow men. 

Then came the year 1889, and with it an 
invitation to Roosevelt from the President of 
the United States, Benjamin Harrison, to be- 



34 REAL AMERICANS 

come one of the three Civil Service Commis- 
sioners whom he was about to appoint. 

Such a commission had been in existence 
only a short time, though it had long been 
needed. Much good could be done by it be- 
cause, if its work were carried out faithfully, 
the people who served our government would 
be chosen because they deserved it, and not 
because of the say-so of dishonest politicians. 

Roosevelt knew that as such a commissioner 
he could do most helpful work for his country. 
People holding office under the government 
must show on careful examination that they 
were worthy and capable. 

"I will accept the invitation," he decided at 
once. 

But his friends held up their hands in re- 
gret at the idea. 

"Theodore Roosevelt has too much ability 
to settle down to be merely a commissioner," 
they said to each other. "He will lose his 
chance of gaining a much higher position in 
the government of the United States." 

Whatever they thought, however, made no 
difference to Roosevelt, so long as he believed 
he had decided rightly. So he went to Wash- 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 35 

ington and plunged into his new duties with 
as much energy as he would have fought a 
grizzly. 

Sometimes he was criticised by people less 
honest and straightforward than himself. 
Many a time he must have set his teeth hard 
in carrying out what he believed right. Many 
a time he must have chuckled at his victories 
over spoilsmen who would have caused faith- 
ful workers to lose their positions so that they 
could put their own friends in place of them. 

In the meantime he made himself at home in 
Washington, showing himself kindly to all 
sorts of people. 

"What a strange person!" said some, when 
they saw him treating rough uneducated men 
from the western prairies in as open and 
brotherly a way as the highest officers of the 
government. 

Others looked on and smiled, simply calling 
Roosevelt an odd fellow whom they did not 
quite understand, but who was certainly doing 
important work in enforcing the Civil Service 
laws. 

Six years passed in Washington, filled to the 
brim with hard work, but with enough play 



36 REAL AMERICANS 

and exercise to keep the brave, energetic man 
strong and happy. 

At the end of that time an offer came to him 
from the Mayor of New York City, asking 
him to become President of the Board of 
Police Commissioners there. 

"If I accept, there will be some hard fight- 
ing for me," Roosevelt must have said to him- 
self. 

He was well aware that conditions in his 
home city were bad, very bad indeed. The 
police did not do their duty. Many of them 
took bribes so that gamblers went free, and 
many law-breakers were not brought to 
justice. When the police knew that money 
would be paid them for shutting their eyes to 
wicked deeds, some of them were ready to ap- 
pear blind. 

After taking into consideration all the diffi- 
culties before him, Roosevelt accepted the 
Mayor's offer, and soon afterwards he began 
his fight to make New York City a better 
place to live in. 

First of all, he showed that he meant to be 
just. He therefore learned everything possi- 
ble about the lives of the men on the police 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 37 

force and saw that they were rewarded for 
every noble deed they did. 

Not only in the daytime did the energetic 
commissioner work, because he knew well that 
in the darkness of the night most of the evil 
deeds were done. 

"I am going to see things for myself," 
thought Roosevelt. 

And so, on many a black night he wandered 
through narrow, crooked streets where saloons 
and gambling dens were to be found, taking 
many an evildoer by surprise. 

Dangerous work this? Undoubtedly, be- 
cause men who hated the law might come 
upon him unawares in those dark streets, seek- 
ing to take his life. But Roosevelt was with- 
out fear for himself. 

A happy day came to him when he became 
acquainted with another man in New York 
who was as interested as himself in doing away 
with evil places and in helping the people in 
the slums to have better homes. This was the 
immigrant, Jacob Riis, who has since become 
known throughout the United States for his 
noble work among the poor. 

The two men, Roosevelt and Riis, spent 



38 REAL AMERICANS 

many a night together, wandering through the 
slums. At such times the commissioner 
learned much that would help him in working 
for better government in his city. He dis- 
covered why there was so much sickness and 
why so many little children died in the slums; 
and because of his discoveries he fought hard 
to have tenements not fit to live in torn down, 
and better ones built in their places. 

A bitter fight Roosevelt fought in those days 
against wrong and wickedness. But when he 
became weary, he could always get rested and 
refreshed in his home at Sagamore Hill where 
a devoted wife and children were ever ready 
to welcome him. 

Roosevelt had not held office long before 
people in New York, and indeed throughout 
the United States, became aware that he was 
engaged in a brave fight. 

He himself was not satisfied, however. He 
felt sure that he could do still greater work. 
Therefore, when President McKinley asked 
him to become Assistant Secretary of the 
Navy, he accepted the offer and went to 
Washington to take up his new duties. 

"There is much for us to do," thought 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 39 

Roosevelt. "If war should arise, the United 
States ought to be prepared." 

There was another matter which interested 
him. It was the sad condition of the island 
of Cuba, only a little ways off the coast of 
the United States. Cuba belonged to Spain, 
and her Spanish masters had treated her 
people so cruelly that they had revolted and 
fought bitterly to throw of! the yoke of Spain. 
But they were too weak to succeed in their 
revolution. 

"We should go to the aid of bur Cuban 
brothers," thought many Americans, Roose- 
velt among them. 

Not long afterwards our battleship, the 
Maine, was blown up in Havana Harbor. 

"This means war — only war!" was the cry 
that rang angrily throughout the United 
States. 

There were some people, however, who 
thought we should not hurry to begin a fight 
with the Spaniards. Roosevelt, on the other 
hand, felt that not a moment must be lost in 
getting ready for action. Never in his life 
had he striven more determinedly than now. 
Through his efforts the scattered battleships of 



4 o REAL AMERICANS 

the American fleet were speedily gathered 
together and Admiral Dewey, the commander 
of the Pacific fleet, held his ships near the 
coast of Asia ready, in case of war, to keep 
the Spanish fleet stationed there from getting 
away to do harm elsewhere. 

On the twenty-first day of April, 1898, war 
was declared. 

"I will enter it," Roosevelt declared. He 
at once offered to raise a regiment to be made 
up largely of men of the western plains. The 
offer was accepted, and he was invited to be- 
come the colonel of the regiment. 

But Roosevelt said, "No." He felt that he 
did not understand enough about leading a 
regiment into action. He therefore proposed 
that Doctor Leonard Wood, a trained fighter 
in Indian wars, should be made colonel, and 
he himself should be given the post of lieuten- 
ant colonel. 

When this had been done he asked for vol- 
unteers. Answers came speedily from cow- 
boys and ranchmen, strong of build and able 
to endure hardship ; from New York society 
men; from football and polo players; college 
students; Indians and crack oarsmen — all 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 41 

eager to fight under Theodore Roosevelt 
whom they admired deeply. 

Indeed, so many volunteered that great 
numbers had to be refused admission to the 
ranks of the "Rough Riders," as the First Vol- 
unteer Cavalry soon came to be called 
throughout the country. 

Colonel Wood began the training of the 
regiment at San Antonio, Texas, while Roose- 
velt remained for a while at Washington to 
hasten preparations for war. Then, after giv- 
ing up his post there in May, he joined 
Colonel Wood to help in the training of the 
Rough Riders. 

After a month the regiment was ordered to 
Tampa, Florida, from whence it soon sailed 
for Cuba. 

Shortly after their arrival at the island the 
Rough Riders came upon the Spaniards in a 
wild, rough country of mountains and jungles. 
And on July first and second, Roosevelt led 
his men in a daring attack upon San Juan Hill. 
The Hill was captured, but during the attack 
nearly one fifth of the men engaged in the 
struggle were killed or wounded. 

During those difficult days the young com- 



42 REAL AMERICANS 

mander, new to war, did not falter or fear. 
Where the danger was greatest he was sure 
to be. 

"Wherever the bullets are flying thickest, 
you'll find him," one of the soldiers said at 
the time. "He's the greatest thing you ever 
heard of." 

When the news in regard to the fight and the 
way Roosevelt conducted himself in it reached 
the United States, he instantly became a hero 
in the eyes of his countrymen. 

Hard days followed the taking of San Juan 
Hill, followed by long weeks of waiting in 
the hot, sickly Cuban climate. This was be- 
cause the Spaniards would not yet declare 
themselves beaten, though Santiago had been 
taken and their war fleet had been destroyed 
by Admiral Dewey. 

In that time of waiting Roosevelt, who was 
now a colonel, watched with a heavy heart 
while his brave Rough Riders, obliged to 
sleep in the open, without any cover even in 
the heaviest rains, and with poor food, were 
laid low with fever. At one time more than 
half of the soldiers in the regiment were seri- 
ously ill. 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 43 

Their commander did all he could for the 
men whom he loved. He shared their discom- 
forts. He went about cheering the sick and 
trying to keep up their courage. Yet all the 
time he was thinking, "Why does not the gov- 
ernment at Washington order the army back 
to the United States where the men can re- 
cover their health for more fighting, if that 
shall be needed?" 

At last, unable to keep silent any longer, 
he wrote a letter to his commanding officer, 
General Shaf ter. Among other things he said : 
"To keep us here, in the opinion of every offi- 
cer commanding a division or brigade, will 
simply involve the destruction of thousands. 
There is no possible reason for not shipping 
practically the entire command North at 
once." 

That letter proved to be a very important 
one. A few hours after it was received by 
General Shafter, it was telegraphed to the 
United States. 

A council of war of the leading army offi- 
cers followed, and they forthwith sent to 
Washington a round robin in which the 
danger of keeping the army longer in Cuba 



44 REAL AMERICANS 

was plainly stated. The round robin was pub- 
lished in the newspapers and the people who 
read it threw up their hands in horror. 

"It is shameful," declared many, "that our 
brave soldiers should be allowed to sicken and 
die without need." 

So great was the indignation aroused that 
the government promptly ordered the army 
home. Great numbers of the men were so 
ill that they were sent to Montauk Point, Long 
Island, to be nursed back to health. 

Alas! many returned to their homeland too 
late to be saved. Nevertheless there were 
thousands of others in the army who could say 
to their friends, "My life has been spared 
through the timely words of Theodore Roose- 
velt." 

While he was at Montauk Point, waiting to 
be ordered out of service, Roosevelt went 
about among the sick soldiers who had served 
under him, striving as best he could to com- 
fort and cheer them. 

Leading men in politics were already dis- 
cussing his future. Some of them were think- 
ing, "Theodore Roosevelt would make a good 
President of the United States. He is a man 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 45 

of great power and the people of this country 
love and admire him." 

But it was not the year for nominating a 
new President, and it was the time for the State 
of New York to choose a governor. So it came 
about that a visit to Montauk Point was made 
by some leading men of New York State to 
ask Roosevelt if he would run for governor. 
The answer was a favorable one. The election 
came in November. It made Theodore 
Roosevelt the governor of the most important 
State in the Union. 

He plunged energetically into his new work. 
Ahead of him were battles in which no mus- 
kets would be fired ; but bullets of hard com- 
mon sense and of firm, wise deeds must be 
continually used. 

You can understand what kind of fighting 
Roosevelt had to do when you remember 
what his old friend, Jacob Riis, said of him 
at the time: that he introduced the ten com- 
mandments into the government at Albany. 
In other words, he endeavored to make that 
government honest and helpful to all classes 
of people. 

Among other things he strove to have the 



46 REAL AMERICANS 

Civil Service laws carried out as they had not 
been before. He tried to make the workers in 
factories treated more justly. He fought with 
all his might to prevent corporations from 
having more power than was their right. In 
whatever he did he acted without fear; and 
though he made enemies among evildoers, he 
succeeded in bringing about many wise re- 
forms in his State. 

Both friends and political enemies were now 
beginning to talk about him as a future Vice- 
President. The latter people, who had only 
selfish ends, said to each other: "Theodore 
Roosevelt is a man of power. Hence he is 
able to work against our interests. If he 
should become Vice-President, he would be 
sidetracked like most of the previous men in 
that office, and we should have nothing more 
to fear from him." 

At first Roosevelt's answer in regard to a 
nomination was a decided, "No." But when 
he found that great numbers of people 
throughout the country wished it, he agreed to 
become a candidate. His election followed, 
and the Roosevelt family moved to Washing- 
ton for the third time. 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 47 



"What shall I do with all my leisure 
hours?" the new Vice-President considered 
after he had been sworn into office on March 
4, 1901. He knew that his main duty would 
be to preside over the Senate which generally 
had a long vacation during the summer. "I 
will finish the law studies which I began in 
my youth," he decided. "And I will write 
books." 

There is an old saying that "Man proposes 
but God disposes." So it was with the plans 
made at that time by Roosevelt. 

It happened that during the following sum- 
mer President McKinley went to Buffalo, 
New York, to attend an exposition being held 
there. On the sixth of September he gave a 
public reception in the city. In among the 
great gathering of people a man made his way, 
maddened by hatred of all rulers. This man 
carried a revolver with which he planned to 
take the life of the President. Suddenly the 
people gathered there heard a shot — two shots 
— and all was instant confusion as the word 
spread that the President had been wounded. 

When the sad tidings reached Roosevelt, 
who was on an island in Lake Champlain, he 



48 REAL AMERICANS 

hastened to Buffalo. How fast the thoughts 
must have rushed through his mind ! Suppose 
— suppose — the President's wound should 
prove fatal. Suppose it should fall to him to 
take the highest office in the United States! 

When he reached Buffalo, however, Mc- 
Kinley's physicians told him that their patient 
was not in danger, so he left the city to join his 
wife and children in the Adirondacks. Two 
days afterwards he went for a tramp with a 
party of friends. He had climbed a mountain 
and was on his way down when a man came out 
of the forest onto the trail below. 

Something within Roosevelt said to him, 
"That man is a messenger bringing sad news 
about the President." 

This proved to be the case. The messenger 
bore a telegram which read, "The President's 
condition has changed for the worse." 

Roosevelt, fifty miles from the railroad, in 
the midst of mountain wilderness, knew that 
he must not waste a moment in getting back 
to Buffalo. Making all haste possible, with 
the minutes seeming like hours, he reached the 
railroad station miles away only to receive the 
message that President McKinley was dead. 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 49 

Hurrying on to Buffalo in the locomotive 
which had been sent for him, he took his oath 
of office as President of the United States 
shortly after his arrival. 

Since we all know what kind of a man 
Roosevelt had proved himself to be in other 
positions, it seems natural that as President he 
showed himself a fighter. Not a fighter for 
the mere love of fighting, however 1 But if he 
thought a fight necessary in bringing about 
what he believed to be right, he never hesi- 
tated to engage in it. He meant every word 
of it when he said, "Speak softly, but carry 
a stick." 

He prevented war with other countries 
more than once during the years in which he 
was head of the nation. He succeeded in 
bringing about many important reforms. He 
saw to it that his country kept her promises. 
He settled troubles which had arisen with 
Great Britain about the boundaries of Alaska. 
He made Americans living in foreign coun- 
tries sure that their flag would protect them 
wherever they went in the world. He worked 
with all his might to have justice carried out 
in the United States, so that the poor and weak, 



50 REAL AMERICANS 

as well as the rich and powerful, should have 
fair play. 

Among the important things he accom- 
plished was bringing a strike of miners to a 
peaceful settlement. The men had demanded 
better pay, refusing to work till they should 
receive it. The owners of the mines would not 
heed these demands. Months passed, and no 
coal was mined. Winter came on and people 
suffered from need of fuel. 

"I can not rest, idly watching such suffer- 
ing," thought Roosevelt, and he offered to pre- 
side at a meeting of the mine owners and the 
miners to bring about a settlement. At last a 
meeting was held, an agreement made, and the 
miners returned to their work. No one can 
say how much suffering was prevented by the 
President's action. 

Another great thing was accomplished when 
Roosevelt brought about the end of a terrible 
war between Russia and Japan. The war had 
been raging for eighteen months when he 
offered to act as peacemaker between the two 
countries. His offer was accepted, and Rus- 
sian and Japanese commissioners sailed to this 
country to meet our President and talk over 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 51 

the situation. Through him an agreement was 
finally made and the Russo-Japanese War 
came to an end. 

Not long afterwards the Nobel Peace Prize 
was awarded this man of whom his enemies 
had said, "He would rather fight than eat." 

The greatest work of all, perhaps, which 
Roosevelt brought about during his nearly 
eight years of life in the White House was the 
building of the Panama Canal. There were 
many difficulties to be overcome before this 
was made possible. But Roosevelt had long 
since decided that for the good of the United 
States the gigantic work must be done. As 
we know to-day, he met with success ; the nec- 
essary money was raised ; other countries were 
satisfied, and the health of the men sent to 
build the canal was carefully protected from 
disease. 

As the work went on, President Roosevelt 
and his wife took a trip to the Isthmus of 
Panama to see how well the canal was being 
built. Then, as always when away from his 
children, he found time to write to them about 
whatever he saw that would interest them. 

One of his letters on board the ship carry- 



52 REAL AMERICANS 

ing him to the Isthmus was to his third son, 
Quentin. It began this way: 

Blessed Quentin: 

You would be amused at the pets they have 
aboard this ship. They have two young bull- 
dogs, a cat, three little raccoons and a tiny 
Cuban goat. They seem to be very amiable 
with one another, although I think the cat has 
suspicions of all the rest. The coons clamber 
about everywhere, and the other afternoon 
while I was sitting reading, I suddenly felt 
my finger seized in a pair of soft black paws 
and found the coon sniffing at it, making me 
feel a little uncomfortable lest it might think 
the finger something good to eat." 

In this way the great man wrote on, showing 
that with all his heavy cares, he could turn at 
will to describe what a small boy would be 
interested in. 

When Roosevelt entered on his second term 
as President he did so with a joyful heart. Be- 
fore this he felt his high position had come 
accidentally, through McKinley's death. But 
now, when he found that a larger number of 
votes had been cast for him than for any Presi- 
dent before, he could say to himself, "The 
people of my country want me and I am glad." 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 53 

Yes, by this time he was a great hero in the 
eyes of his countrymen. 

During his presidency he made many 
enemies, — some because they did not agree 
with all his ideas, and others because of selfish 
interests. But the great majority of the 
American people so loved and believed in him 
that when his second term expired, a great 
many wished him to continue in office. 

Never before in American history had a 
President served a third term, and when 
Roosevelt's friends proposed this to him he 
said, "No" decisively, and made plans for a 
long trip to Africa. 

He had had short vacations during his life 
in the White House. Otherwise he could not 
have stood the strain of his many duties. 
There had been happy summers at Oyster Bay 
when he romped with his children, cut down 
trees in the woodland, pitched hay, and rowed 
and walked to his heart's content. And there 
had been several tramps among the mountains 
of the West. 

Sometimes, too, there were brief trips to a 
charming little house which the President 
had bought in western Virginia. There he 



54 REAL AMERICANS 

and his family could live simply, forgetting 
for a while the formal life of the Capitol. 

There were also occasional "hikes" out into 
the country with his sons, when the President 
wore knickerbockers and felt for the time 
being as free and light-hearted as a boy. 

In the White House itself there were often 
family merry-makings. There were games 
with the children and story hours in which 
their father told tales of the wild creatures 
he had met in his various adventures, or read 
to them from their favorite books. 

Many a letter Roosevelt found time to write 
to his older sons while they were away at 
school, giving good advice and showing his 
tender love for them. 

He was interested in everything which in- 
terested his children. Because of this he wrote 
in a letter to Mrs. Elizabeth Phelps Ward, 
"At this moment, my small daughter being 
out, I am acting as nurse to two nice guinea 
pigs which she feels would not be safe in the 
room without me — and if I can prevent it, I 
do not intend to have wanton suffering inflicted 
on any creature." 

Many of their loved father's letters were 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 55 

preserved by his children and have since been 
gathered together in a most interesting book. 

More than a year before Roosevelt ceased to 
be President he sent a fleet of American battle- 
ships around the world, to show the people of 
other lands that the United States was a 
powerful country. These ships stopped at 
many ports in their voyage and reached their 
homeland only a few days before the reins of 
government were handed over to a new Presi- 
dent. 

Already Roosevelt was making plans for his 
African expedition. His son Kermit was to 
be one of the party whose special work was 
to collect specimens for the Smithsonian In- 
stitution at Washington. 

"I do not like the thought of Roosevelt go- 
ing to the wilds of Africa," thought many of 
his friends. "Danger and illness may await 
him there." But their fears for his safety did 
not hold him back. 

So it came about that a few weeks after he 
left the White House he and Kermit were on 
their way to Italy, to take passage there in % 
steamer bound for East Africa. 

After a short stay in Naples, the party 



56 REAL AMERICANS 

steamed on their way southward to Africa, 
where at Mombasa they found that arrange- 
ments were already made for them to go with 
trained African hunters on an expedition into 
the wilderness. 

In the weeks that followed Roosevelt feasted 
his eyes on the wonders to be met with in the 
heart of the "Dark Continent." He gazed 
upon myriads of strange, beautiful birds and 
wild flowers. He studied the life of the na- 
tives of the country. He engaged in one ex- 
citing hunt after another. He followed wild 
elephants in their paths through the jungle. 
He trailed lions. He fought with hippo- 
potamuses. He hunted giraffes and cheetahs 
and hartbeests. He and his young son killed 
some of the fiercest creatures of the wilder- 
ness, following many a trail where cobras and 
other deadly snakes lurked in the tall grass 
beneath their feet. 

There was one experience which was dif- 
ferent from all the others. It was a battle with 
fever. Ever since the Spanish War days, 
when Roosevelt was in Cuba with his Rough 
Riders, he had suffered at times with malarial 
fever. Now, in the jungle, it came upon him 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 57 

suddenly; but fortunately it was soon over- 
come. 

He spent about a year on his African hunt. 
Then he bade good-by to Africa and turned 
homeward, stopping on his way in various 
countries of Europe, where he was received 
with more honors than had ever been given 
any American before him. In Paris he made 
a speech on "Citizenship in a Republic" be- 
fore three thousand of the greatest men in 
France, and his words stirred his hearers 
deeply. 

He was entertained by many European 
kings and queens. Afterwards, upon the death 
of King Edward VII of England, at the re- 
quest of President Taft, he acted as special 
Ambassador of the United States at the King's 
funeral. 

From the beginning to the end of his stay 
in Europe the greatest people of Europe de- 
lighted in paying every possible attention to 
the great American, Theodore Roosevelt, who 
had become a world figure. 

Fifteen months after he had sailed out of 
New York harbor, he returned to the United 
States to find it in a state of unrest. Many 



58 REAL AMERICANS 

things had been brought about by the govern- 
ment which did not seem right to the common 
people. 

"Will not Roosevelt help us?" considered 
many in the crowds of devoted followers who 
gathered in the streets of New York to wel- 
come him. 

"What can I do that will give the best aid?" 
he must have asked himself. 

He was soon busy making speeches in dif- 
ferent parts of the country. Wherever he 
went he spoke plainly regarding what he con- 
sidered should be the purpose of all laws, — to 
completely and entirely safeguard the well- 
being of the people. 

His enemies shouted that he was a boss, in 
other words, that he drove others to believe as 
he did. 

His friends, on the other hand, declared that 
he was a leader, — a leader ever anxious to 
guide people in what he believed was the way 
of justice. The feeling was strong on both 
sides. 

In 191 2 the time came to choose a new Presi- 
dent. The Progressive Republicans decided 
that no one was so fitted to guide the nation as 




Copyright Underwood & Underwood, K. Y. 
COLONEL ROOSEVELT ADDRESSING FIFTEEN HUNDRED OF 
HIS SUPPORTERS AT SAGAMORE HILL 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 59 

Theodore Roosevelt, and with his permission 
they nominated him. 

A bitter fight followed between the two 
leading political parties. Roosevelt went 
from place to place fighting for the cause of 
the Progressive Republicans. There were 
some who said that the honors bestowed on 
him in Europe had given him a "big head." 
There were others who insisted that he had 
forgotten himself in the cause he was defend- 
ing. 

One evening — it was in the City of Milwau- 
kee — when he was on his way to make a speech 
in the auditorium there, he was suddenly shot 
by an insane man who believed that God had 
called upon him to end Roosevelt's life, \yhat 
was his first care? It was that this would-be 
murderer should not be injured by the furious 
people who gathered around him. 

After that, in spite of entreaty, he insisted 
on going at once to the auditorium that he 
might address the gathering there. In that 
vast hall, before ten thousand listeners, he 
spoke for an hour and a half, kept up by the 
desire to have the people of Milwaukee better 
understand the cause in which he had faith. 



6o REAL AMERICANS 



Then, when the speech was ended, he went to 
a hospital where a bullet was found lying in 
his breast, close to his right lung. 

The wound was so severe that he was kept 
from further speech-making for two weeks, 
after which he returned to it with his old 
energy. In the coming election, Woodrow 
Wilson was chosen President by the majority 
of the American people. 

Shortly afterwards, Roosevelt went hunting 
in the Rockies with two of his sons and had in- 
teresting adventures among the Indians of the 
Southwest. He had an unusual experience 
there, being allowed to witness the Sacred 
Snake Dance of the Hopi Indians. 

Late in the following summer he returned 
home, after which he began to prepare for a 
voyage to South America. He had been in- 
vited to speak in different countries there on 
the subject of good government. He wished 
to accept the invitation and also to have some 
hunting in South American jungles. 

The following autumn found him traveling 
in various countries of South America and 
making speeches which won great admira- 
tion. 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 61 

No other praise he had received in his life 
was stronger than the words spoken of him 
there, when the people called him "a world 
man" and said, "Roosevelt is the United 
States." 

When the time came for him to leave the 
crowds behind him and go hunting in the wil- 
derness, he found adventures a-plenty await- 
ing him. There were encounters with jaguars, 
panthers and other fierce creatures. There 
were visits to native Indian villages. There 
were canoe trips down dangerous streams 
where rapids were met, too dangerous for the 
canoe to pass over, and the hunters were 
obliged to carry their luggage afoot for long 
distances through the hot, damp jungle. 
There was the exploration of a river one 
thousand miles long, the source of which had 
never been discovered by the natives. 

Fever lurked in the jungle, deadly as the 
serpents that had their homes there, and many 
of the party were stricken with it. In Africa 
Roosevelt had been able to resist it. But in 
South America he was seized tightly in its 
clutches and for two days he was ill near unto 
death. 



62 REAL AMERICANS 

His son, Kermit, also lay very ill for a time ; 
but after a few days in which hope for recov- 
ery must have been small, the hunters were 
able to start out again, and seven weeks after 
they had entered the jungle they came once 
more upon traces of civilization. 

Roosevelt returned to the United States in 
May, 1 9 14. Soon afterwards, in August, the 
Great War broke out in Europe, and he began 
at once to plead with his countrymen to pre- 
pare for righting, if need be. He declared 
that the army and navy should be made 
stronger. At the same time he pointed out the 
need of a league of nations. 

To many people, the idea of a league of 
nations did not fit in with the making of 
strong armaments, and Roosevelt was ridi- 
culed. But he was not turned from his belief, 
and continued to write and to speak in defence 
of what he thought was necessary for the safety 
of his country. 

One terrible happening in Europe followed 
another while our government waited and did 
not act. The Lusitania was sunk, and still 
nothing was done, while Roosevelt still 
pleaded with the people to prepare for fight- 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 63 



ing against Germany. At last the time came 
when the United States entered the war. 

Roosevelt almost immediately offered to 
lead a regiment. Already, as he knew, 
there were two hundred thousand men who 
would be glad to fight under his command. 
The United States Government refused his 
offer. 

He had one comfort, however; he had four 
sons to give to the cause ; and these four, strong 
in their father's spirit, promptly enlisted. 
The youngest, Quentin, who was only nine- 
teen, chose the department of aviation. 

We know to-day what sorrow came to Theo- 
dore Roosevelt before the terrible war ended: 
the oldest son, Theodore, was gassed and 
wounded, while Quentin, who had become 
first lieutenant in the American Aero Squad- 
ron, was killed during an air battle with the 
Germans. 

The loss of this son was a bitter one to the 
loving father. It was harder to bear because 
of his poor health. He had never been well 
since his illness in South America, which had 
left a poison in his system. In fact, a few 
months before Quentin was killed, he lay so 



64 REAL AMERICANS 

ill in a New York hospital that for days his 
life was almost despaired of. 

Through his strong will, however, he re- 
covered sufficiently to take part in active life 
again. Even on the day after the news of 
Quentin's death reached him, with his heart 
aching over his loss, he spoke at a political 
convention in Saratoga as earnestly as usual. 

A few more times after that he appeared in 
public. Then, on November u, the day 
famous for the signing of the armistice, he be- 
came very ill and was taken to Roosevelt Hos- 
pital in New York City. He suffered much 
and longed to be back in his beautiful home 
at Sagamore Hill. And so on Christmas Eve 
he was carried there, where he could have his 
family and friends about him. 

Ten happy days followed for the sick man, 
in which he seemed to be improving. Then 
came an evening — the fifth of January, 1919 
— spent in the company of his loved ones. Be- 
fore sunlight of the next day Theodore Roose- 
velt had quietly passed away. 

When the news of his death spread through 
the country, there was great sorrow. What- 
ever failings he had possessed were lost sight 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 65 

of in the memory of his many noble deeds. 
Deep was the sense of loss of his countrymen 
as they thought of the strong will which had 
been ever ready to overcome obstacles, of the 
faithfulness in performing duty, of the readi- 
ness to help in big things and in little, and of 
the depth of love for others which none real- 
ized probably so fully as the wife and children 
and grandchildren who had been so dear to 
him. 

"A great American, a real American in 
every sense, has gone from among us," cried 
millions of people. 

Mount Vernon, the home of George Wash- 
ington, has been carefully preserved that his 
countrymen may at any time visit the place 
loved by the "Father of his Country." No 
more fitting shrine to the world-famed patriot, 
Theodore Roosevelt, could be found than the 
house where he was born. This early home 
on East Twentieth Street, New York City, has 
been dedicated as a national memorial, and 
in it may be seen the gymnasium outfit used by 
the delicate boy when he began his tremendous 
fight for health and strength that resulted in 
such a wonderfully helpful manhood. 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 

The Man of Great Heart 

WITHOUT doubt you feel that you know that 
wise man, Herbert Hoover, though you may 
never have looked upon his face or listened to 
his voice. 

Why is this? Because you have heard so 
much about his tender thought for others who 
were in need ; thousands, tens of thousands, yes, 
millions of men, women and little children 
have been saved from suffering and death 
through his loving thought. 

Mr. Hoover's work has not ended with the 
end of the war, because suffering has continued 
in Europe since the fighting stopped. But we 
will consider this later on. At present let us 
go back to the beginning of the great man's 
beautiful life and think of him as a helpless 
baby, like other helpless babies the world over. 

On a summer night in August, 1874, ne & rst 
opened his eyes in the village of West Branch, 
Iowa. It was about midnight, but whether 

66 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 67 



just before or just after, or exactly as the clock 
struck twelve, no one knows to this day. The 
rest of the household were too much interested 
in the little boy's arrival to look at the clock 
till an hour or so after he was born. 

And so, if you should meet Mr. Hoover and 
ask him the date of his birth, he very likely 
might shake his head and answer with a smile, 
"I really can't tell you whether it was the 
tenth or eleventh of August. But after all, 
what does it matter?" 

The baby's parents were Friends, or 
Quakers, as they are commonly called, and all 
the people in that part of West Branch where 
they lived were of the same faith as themselves. 

When Herbert was born he found an older 
brother, Theodore, ready to greet him, and 
after several years his little sister Mary was 
born. 

He had a happy home. His parents were 
kind and tender, but firm with their children; 
and near by were aunts and uncles and cousins 
and grandparents, all devoted to the little 
folks and anxious to have them enjoy them- 
selves. 

When Herbert was only six years old a sad 



68 REAL AMERICANS 

change came in the household, — the loving 
father was seized with illness from which he 
did not recover. Then only four years after- 
wards the wise, tender mother also died, leav- 
ing her three children orphans. 

They were not so badly off as many other 
orphans, however, because their father had 
left enough money to support them, if it were 
carefully used, and there were many kind 
Quaker relatives ready to take the children 
into their homes. At first they lived with 
their dear grandmother Minthorn; but after a 
while Mary alone was left in her keeping. 

Then came the first real adventure in Her- 
bert's life : he was sent out to the Indian Ter- 
ritory to live with an uncle who had been 
stationed there by the United States Govern- 
ment as an Indian agent. 

How different the boy's life was, out there 
among painted savages carrying tomahawks 
and bows and arrows, from what it had been 
in a quiet Iowa village where talk of blood- 
shed and hatred were seldom heard! But the 
lad was not long to stay among such surround- 
ings. "It will never do," some of his uncles 
and aunts were already saying to each other. 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 69 

"The boy is fast growing up and needs school- 
ing. Besides, life among the Indians is too ex- 
citing for him." 

Accordingly he was sent back to Iowa to 
live with his Uncle Allan and his Aunt Millie 
whom he adored. With plenty of young 
cousins in the home to play with, and with his 
brother living only a short distance away on 
the farm of another uncle, he was very happy. 
Grandmother Minthorn and his little sister 
Mary also lived near him, and there were de- 
lightful visits back and forth among the differ- 
ent relatives. 

Two years went by like the wind, with 
sliding and skating in winter, the tapping of 
maple trees and sugar-making in spring, fish- 
ing and berrying and the liveliest frolics in 
summer and autumn; and in between times 
Theodore and Herbert, both of whom were in- 
ventive, busied themselves in making things 
which their fancy suggested. 

For instance, Herbert never forgot the 
rough harness shaped by boy hands for a calf 
which he and a young cousin owned together. 

"Our calf can work in the grain fields for 
us," they had decided. 



70 REAL AMERICANS 

Consequently, when the harness was finished 
and fitted upon the calf's back, the training 
began. At first all went well. But one day 
this new beast of burden became unmanage- 
able and dragged the cultivator to which it 
was fastened across, instead of between, the 
rows of growing grain, destroying the young 
shoots in the most shocking manner. Of 
course the calf was never trusted again with 
that kind of work. But the boys soon set it to 
a different task. 

"The calf can surely turn the sorghum mill 
which we made," considered Herbert. 

So once more the poor little beast was set to 
work; and to the boy's delight, the sorghum 
juice began to flow from the mill with no labor 
except that of the patient calf. 

Of course there was school to attend during 
those two happy years, and it was a long dis- 
tance from home. But walking in the fresh 
country air was pleasant, especially when 
there were fun-loving playmates to keep one 
company on the way. 

At the end of two joyous years Herbert was 
told that there was to be a change : he was to 
go away out to Newberg, Oregon, to live with 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 71 

his uncle, John Minthorn, who was a physi- 
cian and also the principal of a Quaker 
academy. 

Little Mary had already gone to Oregon 
with Grandmother Minthorn, but that did 
not make it much easier for Herbert to leave 
his brother Theodore and Aunt Millie, to say 
nothing of the cousins with whom he had en- 
joyed so many lively frolics. 

There was considerable sport for the lad, 
however, in getting ready for the long journey 
and in watching his aunt prepare dainties dear 
to his boy's stomach, to be eaten on the way. 
There was tender chicken, deliciously cooked; 
and there were pies and cakes, cookies and 
juicy apples. Once the start was made it was 
great fun to look at the strange sights to be 
seen from the car window. 

When the journey was at last over, Herbert 
found himself at his Uncle John's home. Sad 
to say, he found that it was not a farm, which 
to his mind was the best kind of a place for a 
home. Moreover, he did not enjoy getting his 
lessons in an academy nearly as well as in the 
little district school back in Iowa. 

The next change, which was made after two 



72 REAL AMERICANS 

or more years, was also decidedly unpleasant 
for Herbert. He was no longer to be with his 
Uncle John who was to leave Newberg and 
move to the city of Salem. 

"It would not be wise to take my nephew 
with me," this uncle decided. "He should re- 
main where he can go on with his studies in 
the academy." 

Accordingly Herbert was sent to live with 
a Grandfather Miles who had a farm on the 
borders of Newberg. 

Now, this old man was rather stern and he 
had strict ideas about training children. 
He believed they should have regular duties 
and that too much play was not for their good. 
Herbert, consequently, who had up to this 
time been petted a good deal by tender-hearted 
uncles and aunts, suddenly found thorns among 
the roses of his young life. 

He didn't enjoy the discovery at all. 
Neither did he like the idea of what was ahead 
of him if he remained where he was at present: 
after he graduated from the Pacific Academy 
he would be sent to a small Quaker college. 

Already, it seems, he had made up his mind 
that he wished to do something different. 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 73 



Very likely this had come about largely 
through the flying visit of an old friend of his 
father's. 

This man, who was the owner of a mine, 
had heard that the lad was living in Newberg, 
and as he was traveling that way, he stopped 
in the town long enough to make Herbert's ac- 
quaintance. During the few talks the two had 
together the man told the lad much about 
mining. He explained that the training neces- 
sary for a capable mining engineer could be 
obtained only at a university, because only a 
little of such training could be gained at a 
small college. 

Herbert listened eagerly. He already loved 
science and had a strong bent that way, as 
people say. The stranger's words conse- 
quently set him thinking. 

"If I am to get a scientific education, I must 
do so through my own efforts," he decided. 

In course of time, the day came when he 
had formed somewhat of a plan. He said to 
himself: "I won't stay here because if I do, 
I will then be forced to attend some small 
Quaker college. I'll make myself free by 
going away." 



74 REAL AMERICANS 

So it came about that young Herbert 
Hoover left Newberg behind him and 
started out to earn his living in the city of 
Portland. 

"If possible," he thought, "I will get a job 
that will bring me enough money to buy food 
and shelter, and yet leave me a few spare hours 
each day in which I can attend the High 
School." 

But the youth was disappointed in this. He 
found that he must be satisfied with being 
hired by a real-estate dealer at enough salary 
to pay for his actual needs. And alas! The 
pay would be less if he had "hours off" for his 
longed-for high school training. So it must be 
given up. 

He was in no way discouraged, because he 
was free to do what he wished with his eve- 
nings, as well as with occasional periods in the 
daytime when no work was required of him. 
So his face must have shone with happiness as 
he thought, "I am not only independent, but I 
can keep on by myself with any studies I 
choose." 

Now, back of the real-estate office there 
was a tiny room used for storage, and after 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 75 

Herbert had discovered it, he cleaned up a big 
enough place among the boxes for a bed and a 
table. 

In this little hiding place he settled himself 
to quiet evenings of study and undisturbed 
sleep afterwards. What a jolly spot it was in 
the youth's lively imagination! 

Of course, as he was in good health, his 
stomach was bound to cry out for attention 
just so often. But it was easily satisfied by a 
flying visit to some cheap eating place near 
the office. 

Once, it is true, the youth was filled with 
longing for a "regular" meal. That was when 
he read a sign in front of an eating place he 
was passing. The sign told that a course din- 
ner was served there for seventy-five cents. 

Seventy-five cents ! What a big sum for just 
one meal! "Why!" the youth considered, "at 
one feeding I wouldn't have room in my 
stomach for all the food so much money would 
buy!" 

Satisfied with this reason for not giving up 
to temptation, he passed on. 

Herbert had not lived long in Portland be- 
fore he heard that a new university would soon 



76 REAL AMERICANS 

be opened at Palo Alto, California. Its first 
president was to be David Starr Jordan, a man 
noted in science. 

The young man found further that students 
of little or no means would be enabled to enter 
the university, and that every one would be 
free to a great extent in choosing the studies 
for which he most cared. 

How interested the young office clerk must 
have been in what he learned about Stanford! 
How he must have blessed the kind-hearted 
man and woman who were founding it and 
were giving their great wealth to its upbuild- 
ing in the name of their loved dead son, Leland 
Stanford, Junior. 

"A wonderful opportunity is before me," 
thought Herbert Hoover and he decided to 
make use of it. 

There was an if in regard to the examina- 
tions which must be passed by every one who 
wished to enter the university. Could the 
young Quaker in the real-estate office, with the 
little schooling he had received, take them suc- 
cessfully? That remained to be seen. 

Notice was shortly given in the Portland 
newspapers that a certain Professor Swain of 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER yj 

Stanford would come there to hold examina- 
tions. 

"I will take them," decided Herbert 
Hoover. 

But he must have felt a little discouraged 
when he learned that some of the studies were 
those to which he had never given much atten- 
tion. In the little back room of the real-estate 
office he had spent many a happy hour work- 
ing out problems in mathematics which he 
loved. As for grammar, for which he had no 
more liking than most boys, and other studies 
along the same line, — why should he waste 
precious moments upon them? 

So he had thought before he learned that the 
knowledge of those very things would be re- 
quired if the longed-for university were to 
open its doors to him. Now, too late, so he 
feared, he waked up to see that he had fol- 
lowed a one-sided training. 

Fortune, however, was on his side. It hap- 
pened in the first place that Professor Swain 
was a Quaker and ready to take interest in a 
young man of his own faith who had to earn 
his living, and at the same time was struggling 
to gain an education. Moreover, as the pro- 



78 REAL AMERICANS 

fessor watched the young fellow setting his 
teeth together while he struggled over the tests, 
he noted the determined will that shone in his 
face. Professor Swain, then and there, de- 
cided that young Hoover deserved help. 
Therefore, when the examinations were over 
and the kind-hearted man found that Herbert 
had not passed them all, he took pains to learn 
all he could about him. 

He found that his first impressions had 
not been wrong ones and that the young man 
was as ambitious and intelligent as he had be- 
lieved. 

"He shall be allowed to enter Leland Stan- 
ford University if it be possible," decided this 
new friend. 

"Busy yourself all summer with the studies 
in which you have failed," he advised young 
Hoover. "Then about one month before the 
time for the university to open, go there to get 
some special help before being reexamined." 

With such words as these Professor Swain 
encouraged the youth and ended by telling 
him he would no doubt succeed in entering 
Stanford the following autumn. 

Full of courage and hope, Herbert Hoover 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 79 

followed the advice given him, and a few 
weeks before college opened, he started for 
California with the sum of two hundred dol- 
lars which he had managed to save with much 
sacrifice out of his small earnings. 

When he arrived at Stanford he found the 
place of his dreams a lovely one: in the midst 
of far-spreading green fields nestled beautiful 
buildings of yellow stone, roofed with red tiles. 
Lofty hills and mountains closed in around, as 
if guarding the new home of learning. The 
dormitories where the students were to live 
had not yet been finished. So where was the 
young stranger with his small savings to find 
a home for the next month? 

"You'd better try Adelanta Village," he was 
told. "Some of the professors who have al- 
ready arrived are staying over there at pres- 
ent." 

To Adelanta Village young Hoover went, 
therefore, and there he at once found a home 
and was allowed to work about the place to 
pay in part the cost of his living. Not a 
minute did he idle away, because there were 
the coming examinations for which he must 
"plug" as hard as possible. He worked faith- 



80 REAL AMERICANS 

fully and in due time he succeeded in passing 
every one except English. With the condi- 
tion that he should "make good" in this course 
before graduating, he was allowed to enter the 
university. 

He had to support himself, even though his 
tuition was free. Very soon he found ways of 
doing this. Having a mind with a strong bent 
for order, he set up a little business of his own 
by looking after the students' laundry. He 
collected it from them, sent it off to be done, 
and on its return saw that each person re- 
ceived what belonged to him. Later on, he 
took charge of all arrangements for bringing 
lecturers and musicians to the university. 
This, as well as the care of the laundry, 
brought him small sums of money. 

The most valuable work he did, however, 
gave him not only money, but added knowl- 
edge in his most important studies. It came 
about in this way: Doctor Branner, his pro- 
fessor in geology and a noted man in science, 
was not long in finding out that Herbert 
Hoover was a young man of promise. He 
admired the youth for the same reasons that 
Professor Swain had admired him: he was 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 81 

brave, ambitious, and faithful in whatever he 
undertook. 

At first this wise and kind professor gave 
young Hoover work in his office and labora- 
tory to do out of regular hours. Being satis- 
fied with his performance of these duties, he 
engaged him the following summer to help 
prepare a topographical model of the State of 
Arkansas. Part of this work was done at the 
professor's home; but the rest of it required 
that young Hoover go to Arkansas to study the 
country at first hand. 

He spent two other summer vacations in the 
company of Waldemar Lindgren, a noted 
mining engineer. Under him young Hoover 
worked for the United States Geological Sur- 
vey among the Sierra Mountains in California, 
gaining knowledge that helped him much in 
his studies. 

Some of the other students became a little 
envious of the young Quaker. They spoke 
rather slightingly of "Hoover's luck." 

One day Doctor Branner heard them talk- 
ing together in this way. It made him indig- 
nant. Turning sharply upon them, he de- 
manded what they meant by using such words. 



82 REAL AMERICANS 

"He has not had luck," the professor ex- 
claimed. "He has had reward." 

Doctor Branner went on to say that if the 
young men before him worked half as hard 
and thoughtfully as Herbert Hoover did, they 
would have half his luck. Instead of this, the 
professor declared that if he told any one of 
them to do something for him, he would be 
obliged to examine their work afterwards to 
see if they had done it properly. But it was not 
so with the fellow they considered lucky. 
Whatever he was asked to do would surely be 
done, and without questioning. 

In conclusion, Doctor Branner said, "If I 
told him to start for Kamchatka to-morrow to 
bring me back a walrus tooth, I'd never hear 
of it again until he came back with the tooth, 
and then I'd ask him how he had done it." 

During his college life the young Quaker 
was twice severely ill. At one of these times 
he had typhoid fever which required long and 
careful nursing. He had little money with 
which to bear the expenses of the illness, but 
he had already won the friendship of Doctor 
Branner, who saw to it that the young man was 
sent to a hospital and had the best of care so 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 83 

long as he needed it. Furthermore, the kind- 
hearted man not only defrayed all the ex- 
penses, but told the lad that he was not to 
worry about paying him back. "It will be 
time to do this after you have graduated," he 
assured him. 

At another time the student had an attack 
of measles which brought trouble in its train. 
The college physician who attended him did 
not at first recognize the disease, so he did not 
receive the right treatment. Consequently, the 
measles left him with such weak eyes that he 
was obliged to wear glasses for a long time 
afterwards. 

Now, though young Hoover was deeply in- 
terested in his college work, he wasn't a 
"grind" by any means. Nor was he always a 
model of good behavior, either, so some of his 
classmates have declared. He was quite equal 
to taking part at times in some of the mischief 
college fellows enjoy. 

Moreover, from beginning to end of his 
four years at the university, there was a black 
mark in the form of a condition in English 
against his name. He had failed, you remem- 
ber, to pass the examination in that study away 



84 REAL AMERICANS 

back in Portland, and again at the university 
just before he was allowed to enter it as a 
Freshman. Year after year in college he had 
tried to get that black mark erased, and each 
time he failed. The very word, English, must 
have come at last to set his teeth on edge and 
make his heart sink with dread. 

The time for graduation drew near, and still 
he had not passed in that one study, though in 
all others he stood well. The professors under 
whom he had done splendid work in science 
were troubled, as well as himself. 

To make a long story short, the difficulty 
with English was overcome at almost the last 
moment, and young Hoover graduated from 
Stanford University as he richly deserved, in 
the pioneer class of 1895. 

He had at this time two reasons for great 
happiness. In the first place, his struggle for 
an education was successfully ended. In the 
second, he had won the love of Lou Henry, a 
beautiful, gifted girl in the Freshman class. 

What did the future have in store for these 
two? We will soon see. 

"If you wish to succeed in your life work, 
you should begin at the beginning." After 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 85 

this fashion wise Doctor Branner had spoken 
to the students who had finished the courses 
in geology which he taught. He went on to 
say that the way to begin was to take the job 
of a miner. 

Young Hoover believed this to be good ad- 
vice. And so, when he left Stanford Uni- 
versity, he started on his way to success in a 
certain mine in the Sierra Mountains. There 
he dug and shoveled out the ore day after day, 
and week after week, like the common work- 
men around him. Because he was faithful in 
whatever he did, he was soon given charge of a 
gang. After a few months he said to himself : 
"There is nothing more for me to learn here." 

Furthermore, he thought: "I will try to get 
some sort of work under Mr. Louis Janin, the 
greatest mining engineer on the Pacific Coast. 
I can learn a great deal by being with him." 

The young man accordingly went to San 
Francisco and sought out the office of Mr. 
Janin. The great engineer was interested in 
his visitor at once. But he shook his head as 
he looked into the youth's bright, eager eyes. 

"There is no place I can offer you among my 
assistants," he explained. "And there is al- 



86 REAL AMERICANS 

ready a long list of those who are waiting for 
such a position as you desire." 

Then he went on, no doubt with a smile, to 
say that another typist was needed in his office, 
"But of course " 

Before he could finish the sentence, young 
Hoover broke in. What do you suppose he 
said? Why, that he would like the job of a 
typist, and though he couldn't begin the next 
day, Saturday, he would be on hand to start on 
his new duties on the following Tuesday. 

Knowing as we do that he was a prompt 
young fellow, once he was determined to 
undertake anything, why did he not say he 
would begin at once? 

For a very good reason. He didn't know 
how to run a typewriter. But with his usual 
determination, before Mr. Janin had finished 
speaking, he had decided to learn at once. 
And he would give himself three days to do 
it! Typing in Mr. Janin's office might lead 
to something much better, he thought. It did, 
as you shall see. 

Not long after he had started on this new 
work, he had to copy some papers for Mr. 
Janin in regard to the settlement of an impor- 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 87 

tant matter regarding a certain mine. Mr. 
Janin had been consulted by a great lawyer in 
the case, because he was an expert in his 
knowledge of mines. 

The young typist quickly became interested 
in what he was copying because the mine in 
question lay in the Grass Valley where he had 
worked in his college days with the mining en- 
gineer, Waldemar Lindgren. He knew the 
nature of that part of the country well. In 
fact, he had helped make some discoveries in 
regard to them which had never as yet been 
published. 

As he went on with his copying, he decided 
that both his employer and the lawyer had 
reached quite wrong conclusions about the 
mine in question. Having so decided, he went 
to Mr. Janin and frankly told him what he 
believed. Of course, the mining engineer was 
at first angry at his typist for daring to ques- 
tion his opinions. But he let him explain why 
he thought as he did; and as he listened, in- 
terest took the place of anger. Not only this — 
he took young Hoover with him to the 
lawyer's office to talk over the matter with 
him. 



88 REAL AMERICANS 

The outcome of it all was that the papers 
were altered in the way the typist believed 
necessary, and the youth who had pointed out 
the mistake gave up typewriting at forty-five 
dollars a month to be sent to examine mines, 
not only in California but in other States in 
the West. He was so careful in all his work, 
showing such good judgment and unusual 
understanding, that Mr. Janin saw quickly 
that he had a helper of great value, deserving 
a salary beside which a typist's pay was small 
indeed. 

Glorious days those must have been for 
Herbert Hoover. 

It was not long before he was sent to man- 
age the working of a small mine in New 
Mexico. This was by no means an easy under- 
taking. There was, in fact, much danger in 
it because of the wild, lawless Mexicans in 
the town, who were ready to shoot people 
for any cause, once they had drunk "fire- 
water." 

Men such as these worked in the mine. But 
the boyish-looking manager, less than two 
years out of college, did so well at his new post 
that he won much praise, and he was soon in- 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 89 

vited to take another step up the ladder of 
Fortune. 

It happened that gold had lately been dis- 
covered in great quantities in Australia, and 
English mining companies who had big inter- 
ests in that part of Australia were seeking for 
good mining engineers to send out there to 
develop the newly discovered mines. 

One of the most important of the firms 
wrote to Mr. Janin, asking if he could rec- 
ommend an ably trained man to work for 
them. The conditions were that he must 
be unmarried and at least thirty-five years 
old. 

Mr. Janin said to himself : "Herbert Hoover 
is the very one for the position. And yet he 
is not nearly old enough to meet the condition 
as to the age." After some consideration, he 
decided how that obstacle, age, could be over- 
come. 

Now you shall hear what happened next: 
he told his assistant of the offer, and in his 
usual prompt way the youth decided to accept 
it. A telegram of acceptance was sent to the 
big English firm. Then the young engineer 
began to prepare for the long voyage to Lon- 



9 o REAL AMERICANS 

don to meet the members of the firm and talk 
over the work he was to do in Australia. 

In the meantime Mr. Janin was waiting for 
the right moment to explain that he had kept 
back something. That moment did not come 
till just before the youth was to sail. 

Then, for the first time, Mr. Janin told him 
about the condition of age, and that he had 
telegraphed the mining firm that the man he 
was sending to them was not quite thirty-three. 
He did not dare to say that Mr. Hoover was 
more than that, because he had a very boyish 
face. 

As Mr. Janin finished explaining what he 
had done, he said, "Don't forget that my repu- 
tation depends on your looking thirty-three by 
the time you get to London." 

Of course, young Hoover was a good deal 
troubled over the matter. But he would not 
"back out" at the last minute, and he knew 
that in his mind he was old enough to meet the 
condition, if he was too young in his body. 
But he must look older. He saw that clearly. 
And so, on the long voyage to England, he 
made his face as old as possible by growing a 
beard. 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 91 

Even with this help his future employers 
looked upon him with some astonishment 
when he presented himself before them. Why, 
he didn't appear to be more than twenty-five 
years old at the most, they told him. What a 
remarkable country the United States was that 
it could keep people looking so young. 

They must have been pleased with him, 
however youthful his appearance, because he 
was entertained in one grand home after an- 
other and as much attention paid him as if he 
were a most important person. 

When he had received his instructions re- 
garding his new duties, he bade good-by to 
England and started for Australia. The long 
voyage ended at last at Albany, West Austra- 
lia. There was no quiet harbor there for the 
ship to enter; and so our traveler reached the 
mainland by being carried in a basket swing- 
ing from a rope cable over the rough waters 
that dashed against the coast. 

Not long afterwards the engineer found 
himself in Coolgardie, his company's head- 
quarters. Coolgardie was far from beautiful. 
Forty thousand people were living in homes of 
corrugated iron, with wide stretches of sand 



92 REAL AMERICANS 

around them, without shade, with fresh water 
so scarce that it had to be purchased, and with 
great heat to be endured day and night. 

But little did young Hoover consider the 
lack of beauty or the discomforts of the place. 
He was too busy with thoughts of success in his 
new and responsible position. His duties did 
not keep him at those uncomfortable head- 
quarters all the time, though it was far better 
there than out in the gold fields where the 
burning winds blew hot dust into his nose and 
ears as he walked along. Moreover, fresh 
water was still scarcer there than at head- 
quarters. 

Young Hoover had many duties to perform 
in that desert wilderness. First and last, he 
knew he must keep his head cool and his body 
in good health. Much depended on these, be- 
cause despite what he already knew about 
mining there was a great deal more which he 
did not know. The conditions here were en- 
tirely different from those of gold fields with 
which he was familiar. The young engineer 
constantly had to think out ways and means of 
doing things. And when work was once 
started, his sense of order had to be in steady 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 93 

use. He had to decide what next to do on the 
instant. Delay was not to be thought of. 

He succeeded from the very beginning. It 
was not long before he was able to telegraph 
his London employers that their mines were 
beginning to pay. A short time after that he 
sent them other news that was delightfully as- 
tonishing: he had opened up a new and very 
rich mine. This mine was a long ways from 
his headquarters, so he quickly decided to live 
near it where he could watch everything that 
was going on. 

He made his home in a corrugated iron 
house and he gathered about him the best help- 
ers he could possibly secure. Then all set to 
work cheerfully, forgetting the heat and the 
scarcity of water; and every one of the assist- 
ants, without doubt, was proud to have such an 
able person as Herbert Hoover — a man who 
still looked liked a boy — to direct them. 

There were some pleasures even in that 
Australian desert. In spare hours there were 
games of tennis, and sometimes there were 
jolly little feasts which the wife of one of the 
assistants prepared, serving ducks and chick- 
ens which had been brought from far away. 



94 REAL AMERICANS 

There were two pets which must have given 
Mr. Hoover a great deal of amusement. One 
of these was a goat with a stomach made tender 
from the creature's having once devoured 
several boxes of matches. The other pet was 
an emu, a big ostrich-like bird which was 
quite tame but showed, when roused, a strong 
temper. 

But let us return to the newly discovered 
mine. Young Hoover's success there, as well 
as that of his other work, brought him not only 
a large salary and the highest praise from his 
employers, but much fame in the mining 
world. So it came about that after a while he 
was offered a still higher position than the 
present one. If he chose, he could go to China 
to help in managing the mines of that big em- 
pire! He was to be called "Director General 
of Mines," with a salary so large that the very 
thought of it would have taken away the 
breath of the young Quaker living in a tiny 
storeroom in Portland, Oregon. Herbert 
Hoover accepted the position. 

Shortly afterwards he was on his way to 
London to learn all he could about the state of 
mining affairs in China and his probable new 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 95 



duties. From London he sailed for the United 
States, which he crossed with all speed, ar- 
riving in California the first day of February, 
1899. From there he was soon to leave for 
China. 

There was a very important thing to be 
done before he should start on his voyage. 
Can you guess what that was, remembering 
that a certain beautiful young girl had stolen 
his heart in his college days? She had kept it 
ever since, and her letters had helped her 
lover keep up his courage in the years of hard 
work which had followed. Now, at last, he 
came to claim her as his wife. With her for 
a companion, there would be no loneliness in 
distant China, and whatever trials might come 
would be easy to bear. 

The two were married a few days after 
Mr. Hoover set foot in California. Twenty- 
four hours afterwards the happy young 
couple started on their long voyage across the 
Pacific. 

At first Mr. Hoover's work in China seemed 
easy. But he soon found there were difficul- 
ties for a mining engineer in that strange land. 
To begin with, the Chinese were old-fashioned 



96 REAL AMERICANS 

in their ways of doing things and afraid of 
new ways. 

Mr. Hoover, however, put heart and will 
into his task of getting the mines in his charge 
into good, paying condition. He sent to the 
United States and Australia for such mining 
engineers as would be sure to give him the help 
he needed, and whenever he could he added 
Chinese assistants also to his staff. As usual, 
he soon brought order out of disorder, and 
mines which had before seemed of little value 
began to yield rich stores. He did such won- 
ders that he seemed almost a magician in the 
eyes of some of the simple-minded Chinese. 

With all Mr. Hoover's hard work, there 
was a humorous side to his life because of the 
pompous way in which he, the great Director 
General of Mines of the Chinese Empire, was 
obliged to live. He and his young wife, who 
was as simple in her tastes as he, dwelt in a big 
house, with at least a dozen servants to wait 
on them, each one of these servants having 
some special duty and no other to perform. 
No doubt Mrs. Hoover felt it a heavy burden 
in those days merely to give orders to the help- 
ers in her household. 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 97 

Traveling was also a big undertaking, be- 
cause when Mr. Hoover found it necessary to 
visit any mines, his chief steward could not 
think of the white "chief" and his wife going 
in any but the grandest fashion. Many ser- 
vants must accompany them to prepare their 
meals and make their beds. There must be 
charcoal stoves on which to do the cooking 
and all sorts of dishes on which to serve the 
food. And so, when the Hoovers were ready 
to start out on a trip, they found they were to 
be a part — the most important part, of course 
— of a regular procession of ponies, carts filled 
with luggage, coolies and sedan chairs. 

All went well in China for some time. 
Then suddenly a storm broke. A great many 
of the Chinese had formed themselves into 
what was called the "Boxer Society." They 
hated foreigners. Their watchword was, 
"China for the Chinese." At last, stirred to 
fury against the white men, they started the 
Boxer Rebellion. Massacre after massacre 
took place. The days were filled with horror 
for four terrible weeks. 

The city of Tientsin, where the Hoovers 
were living, was the center of danger. At the 



98 REAL AMERICANS 

very beginning they had a chance to escape. 
But neither would think of it. 

"I will stand by my helpers, both white and 
yellow," Mr. Hoover instantly decided. 

But his wife? Why should she not have 
fled? Because, like her husband, she was 
brave and strong of spirit and devoted to her 
duty. 

"I will remain and help as best I can," she 
also decided. 

Quietly, with determination, the two set to 
work at once, because there was much to do 
and every minute was precious. 

What should be done first? There was no 
doubt in Mr. Hoover's mind. With mad- 
dened Boxers besieging the city on all sides, 
the people within must be kept supplied with 
food or they would starve. 

"I will take charge of whatever supplies 
there are in the stores and warehouses," he 
said to himself. "Already they are being 
taken out and scattered." 

He had to plan quickly, carefully, and then 
to act just as quickly and carefully. All day 
long therefore, under a burning sun, he di- 
rected coolies as they carried sacks of rice and 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 99 

flour, cases of milk and tinned goods to a big 
warehouse for safe keeping. And as he 
watched, he covered them with his rifle to 
protect them from the enemies' bullets which 
came whizzing past him. 

As for his brave young wife, there was no 
thought of staying within the shelter of her 
home when her husband was in danger outside. 
Indeed not! So, also armed with a rifle, she 
went forth to cheer him by her company. 

When the food had been placed in safe 
keeping, Mr. Hoover at once began the task 
of rationing it to the people in an orderly way. 

Then came for him the responsibility of 
fortifying the river front from Boxers on the 
other shore. His own home, too, where many 
had fled for safety, must be protected. 

Accordingly, sacks of rice and sugar were 
piled up around it to keep off attacks of shot 
and shell, and everything possible was done to 
safeguard the inmates till Western troops 
should arrive to overcome the maddened 
Boxers. There was a chance that the troops 
would reach Tientsin too late. Then death 
would surely come to Mr. Hoover and those 
devoted to him. But he did not lose heart and 



ioo REAL AMERICANS 



calmly stood ready for whatever was to come. 
He could not have held out much longer when 
help finally arrived and the Boxer Rebellion 
came to an end. 

Mr. Hoover's trials were not over, however. 
The still young mining engineer now had to 
struggle hard to protect the property in his 
keeping and the men who worked under him 
from injury at the hands of the very soldiers 
who had put down the Boxers. Terrible deeds 
were done about him daily. Yet he remained 
wise, cool-headed and hopeful. 

For two years longer he remained at his 
important post, giving splendid service. Then, 
in 1902, he left China to become a partner in 
the big English company which had sent him 
to Australia a few years before. 

He now went to London, and there he and 
his noble wife set up housekeeping in an apart- 
ment in a far different and more "homey" way 
than in China. 

One year afterwards their little Herbert, 
named for his father, was born, and in four 
more years, another son, Allan, was added to 
the family. 

As the two children became old enough to 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 101 

romp and enjoy life in boy fashion, their 
parents decided that an apartment was not big 
enough. A house must be secured. So they 
looked around the city and found just what 
they wished for. It was an old roomy build- 
ing, called "The Red House." 

There was a garden with trees and flowers 
growing in it, and grass on which the boys 
could turn somersaults if they liked. There 
were pigeons and hens there, too! Moreover, 
there were two beautiful cats of which Mr. 
Hoover was especially fond, and the dog, 
Rags, besides still other pets. 

Though Mr. Hoover still had heavy cares, 
he was able to spend many happy hours at 
"The Red House," chatting with wife and 
children and friends, playing with the family 
pets, and reading his loved books. But this 
last pleasure generally came at night when the 
rest of the household were asleep. 

Mr. Hoover's business kept him in London 
only a small part of the time. He had an office 
in New York City, and one in San Francisco, 
and consequently every year, as a rule, he spent 
some time in the United States with his family. 

He was also often called to other parts of 



102 REAL AMERICANS 

the world to look after the affairs of his com- 
pany. He went to Australia, to China, to 
Africa. 

He was now spoken of as a "Master of 
Mines." Ah, but he was more than that; he 
was a chief who wisely controlled the thou- 
sands of men who worked under his orders, a 
chief with a great heart and a love of justice. 
He had showed the first during the Boxer Re- 
bellion in his readiness to sacrifice himself in 
protecting those who served him. And never 
did he show the second more plainly than dur- 
ing his life in London. It came about in this 
way: a man connected with his company lost 
more than a million dollars in speculating 
with other people's money. 

When Mr. Hoover learned of the loss, he 
said at once, "It must be made good." 

As it happened, the laws were such that the 
firm could not be held responsible. But this 
made no difference to Mr. Hoover because he 
felt it only right that the people whose trust 
had been betrayed should receive justice. He 
at once gave up all his own savings. Quite a 
sum it was, yet far from enough to make the 
loss good. 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 103 

After that, he worked with all his might for 
several years till the time came when he could 
say, "The immense debt has been paid in full." 

Then, free at last, he started upon indepen- 
dent work as a consulting mining engineer. 

As his fame for ability in this line had by 
this time spread throughout the mining world, 
his help was sought by the biggest and most 
important firms who gladly paid large sums 
of money for his efficient help. In course of 
time he went to Australia, to Russia and 
Siberia, to Mexico, South Africa and the 
United States. Some of his undertakings were 
so enormous that it is enough to take away 
one's breath to think of them. 

For instance, during his stay in Siberia, he 
had charge of a district of one hundred and 
seventy-five thousand people. Mind you, he 
not only planned and directed their work in 
the mines, but he had all the responsibility of 
providing them with food and clothing. 

And then, for pleasure, what do you sup- 
pose he did in spare moments? Why, he 
worked with his wife on a translation into 
English of a valuable old Latin book on 
mining. 



104 REAL AMERICANS 

Mr. Hoover was in London, getting ready 
for a trip to the United States with his family 
when in 19 14 the word spread that the Ger- 
man army had invaded Belgium. Other ter- 
rible happenings followed one another in 
quick succession. No one knew what would 
take place next. 

American travelers in Europe were filled 
with fear. Most of them were sure of one 
thing: that they would be safe only by re- 
turning to the United States as quickly as 
possible. 

How did their panic affect Herbert 
Hoover? This man of great heart at once de- 
cided, "My fellow Americans must be 
helped," and while others around him were 
thinking about themselves, he set to work to 
aid the American Ambassador, Mr. Page, to 
see that such help was given. 

It wasn't an easy matter. Skill was needed ; 
system was needed ; money was needed because 
some of the travelers were poor, and the price 
of the passage had not yet reached them from 
their people at home. Almost every one 
needed advice. 

Mr. Hoover proved to be a wise, cool- 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 105 

headed friend who removed difficulties and 
sent his countrymen home rejoicing. 

A young girl said of him at that trying time, 
"They say he (Mr. Hoover) is a wonderful 
engineer, but I don't think he ever carried 
through any more remarkable engineering 
feat than that was!" 

He shouldered a far greater task soon after- 
wards when the news came that the people of 
Belgium were starving. The German troops 
had taken possession of all of their country ex- 
cept a sandy stretch along the coast. They 
were shut off from their friends. They had 
but little farmland, and their stores of food 
were almost used up. 

"The Belgians must be helped," thought 
Herbert Hoover. "Food must be sent to them, 
and without delay." 

How could it be sent when Belgium's neigh- 
bors, England and France, were at war with 
Germany? They were already having hard 
work to provide their armies with needed sup- 
plies, besides attending to all the other business 
which war made necessary. Mr. Hoover be- 
gan at once to plan how poor little Belgium 
could be saved from starvation. 



106 REAL AMERICANS 

It was not long before Mr. Page realized 
how much wisdom Mr. Hoover was showing. 
He said of him : "If any one can save Belgium, 
he can. There never was such a genius for or- 
ganization. He's giving himself now heart 
and soul to this relief work, and we may be 
sure, if the thing is humanly possible, that he 
will find a way." 

Herbert Hoover did find a way, as history 
has shown us. He overcame seemingly im- 
passable obstacles, and food for millions of 
people in Belgium and in the north of France 
was sent to them in ships which had to sail 
over waters where hidden mines and sub- 
marines made each moment a dangerous one. 

Yes, Belgium was saved. A cry of thanks- 
giving rose from her people to their savior, 
Herbert Hoover; and little children, allowed, 
through his efforts, to live on to enjoy the sun- 
shine and the glad air, blessed him with grate- 
ful hearts. 

But the cruel war raged on, and America 
could no longer stand apart and watch. The 
bravest and best of her young men were 
trained and hurried over the ocean to help in 
the fight, that peace might follow. Once in 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 107 

Europe, they must be fed with care that they 
might have strength a-plenty to give to the 
great cause. 

Some one was needed to see that the great 
quantities of food needed should reach them 
and be distributed properly. There was no 
question as to the fitness of Herbert Hoover 
for such a position. 

"You should have the title of 'Food Dicta- 
tor,' " he was told. 

But to this he would not agree. He, a dic- 
tator, who believed that people had a right, 
above all things, to be free ! It was not to be 
thought of. 

He agreed, however, to become Food Ad- 
ministrator, saying, "I shall tell the American 
people the facts; they will act upon them. I 
shall organize their efforts, but the power that 
will make them successful must come from a 
free people." Thus it came about that the 
man who had saved Belgium was now called 
upon to save the war. 

How great was this task it is hard for us 
to imagine. Not only must vast sums of 
money be raised to purchase supplies, and the 
supplies when obtained, sent across the ocean 



108 REAL AMERICANS 

and distributed. This also must be done: 
American people must be roused and kept 
roused to save the food in their own homes and 
gardens in every way possible, that nothing 
should be wasted. 

We all to-day know the word "Hooverize :" 
to save gladly because others would be helped 
thereby. We know that the name "Hoover" 
was a watchword during the last years of the 
war in every American household, reminding 
us to save every crumb of bread, to deny our- 
selves dainties, to forget ourselves again and 
again, in our wish to win the war. And with 
the tremendous help which the generalship 
and loving thought of Herbert Hoover ac- 
complished, the war was won. 

What was ahead of him now? Would he 
return to the work which he had given up at 
the beginning of the war, and which had 
netted him an immense income? While acting 
as Food Administrator he had received no sal- 
ary and paid his own expenses out of money 
he had saved before the war. Why should he 
not return to the business of a consulting 
mining engineer, when its returns in money 
were so great? 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 109 

Because of his love and sympathy for un- 
fortunate people, there was only one thing 
possible for this great-hearted man to do. He 
must continue to put aside his own interests 
that he might help others. 

Looking out over the face of Europe, he 
saw suffering in all directions. The war had 
left millions of people with no place to lay 
their heads, with no money, no food with 
which to satisfy their hunger. 

Some one was needed to see that relief was 
given them so that they should not perish. No 
other person stood ready nor was fitted for the 
great task. Before long the United States had 
formed an American Relief Administration 
with Mr. Hoover as manager, and the suffer- 
ing children of Poland, Servia and still other 
countries of Europe were asking God's bless- 
ing upon the man who was sending help to 
them that they might not starve. What trust 
they and their parents placed in him ! He was 
in their eyes a magician who could make gold 
flow at sound of his voice and turn that gold 
into the food needed to keep alive poor, weak 
bodies that must otherwise perish. 

How tenderly Mr. Hoover loved the mil- 



no REAL AMERICANS 

lions of little sufferers he saved from death! 
How many times his kind eyes must have filled 
with tears at the stories brought him of chil- 
dren with pale, hollow cheeks and sunken eyes 
from which all brightness had vanished ! And 
what touching appeals he has made to big 
folks and to little folks who have happy, com- 
fortable homes to give out of their plenty that 
their brothers and sisters in Europe might be 
saved I 

Stirred by his words and example, rich and 
poor contributed to the noble cause. Large 
sums were raised, yet not enough to relieve all 
the terrible want. 

One busy year followed another for Herbert 
Hoover who, despite all the help he could 
give, grieved sorely that there were still hun- 
dreds of thousands of helpless little children 
in the world, whose bodies were wasting away, 
and who had forgotten how to smile. 

The year 1921 opened and still the suffering 
went on. The European Relief Council, 
which had been organized under Mr. 
Hoover's direction, decided that the amount 
of thirty-three million dollars must be raised 
as quickly as possible. How could people be 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER in 

roused to raise this immense sum when they 
had already been so generous? 

"Suppose a dinner be given in New York 
City," it was suggested. Not an ordinary din- 
ner was this to be. The price of each plate 
was to be one thousand dollars, and the food 
spread before the guests was to be exactly what 
three million five hundred thousand starving 
children in Europe ate gratefully at the meals 
which the Relief Council had been able to 
serve them. 

A strange feast it was to the thousand 
wealthy guests who gathered about Mr. 
Hoover's table that day in New York City. 
Clad in rich garments, they entered an elegant 
banquet hall which had never before been 
used for such a purpose as this. Handsome 
furnishings had been removed. In their places 
were pine trestles for tables, and camp chairs 
on which the guests were to seat themselves 
at the dinner which they quickly discovered 
was not to be served them on rich silver and 
beautiful porcelain dishes. Oh, nol Army 
mess cups contained the cocoa which was the 
only drink, and tin plates held the rice stew 
and the bread which must be eaten without 



ii2 REAL AMERICANS 

butter. Bread, rice and cocoa — these con- 
stituted the feast. 

What was in the minds of the luxury-loving 
Americans who partook of those simple 
viands? Surely they were now picturing to 
themselves the starving little ones across the 
ocean who were in such terrible need. 

To make the thought-picture more vivid, an 
empty chair, with a child's tray fastened to it, 
stood on the table beside Mr. Hoover. No one 
present needed to be told that that chair repre- 
sented the "Invisible Guests" in whose aid the 
dinner was given. There were few at that 
table whose eyes remained dry when Mr. 
Hoover pleaded with them in the name of the 
cause he worked for. 

"The fund which the Relief Council asks 
for is not larger than the cost of one battle- 
ship," he told his hearers. 

Then he went on to refer to the luxuries 
which American people enjoy. "You are able 
to help save the lives of the starving children 
of Europe," he reminded them earnestly. 
"Surely you will do so." 

The story of the feast with its "Invisible 
Guests" spread through the country and the 



HERBERT CLARK HOOVER 113 

people everywhere were roused to give fresh 
help. Many an American boy and girl, hear- 
ing of the feast in New York, gladly made sac- 
rifices that the lives of boys and girls in 
Europe should be saved. Mr. Hoover had not 
spoken in vain. 

Great Heart, as this splendid man has been 
lovingly called, has received honorary degrees 
from many colleges. He has long been a trus- 
tee of his loved Stanford University. He has 
recently been made a member of President 
Harding's Cabinet. In this new office he 
speedily busied himself in trying to improve 
the conditions of working people in this coun- 
try and in making plans for sending aid to 
starving Russia. 

Herbert Hoover is looked upon to-day by 
the whole world as a real American, because 
of his deep love for freedom and justice, his 
tenderness for the suffering, and his devotion 
to his country. But surely no title could be 
dearer to him than that by which he is some- 
times called, — The Friend of Helpless Chil- 
dren. 



LEONARD WOOD 

The Devoted Patriot 

WHEN Theodore Roosevelt was a tiny two- 
year-old in his New York home, a baby boy 
was born in Winchester, New Hampshire, 
who was to become his devoted friend in after 
years. 

The exact date of this baby's birth was 
October 9, i860, and the name given him was 
Leonard. His body, unlike that of the little 
Theodore, was strong and active, and he knew 
little about long days and nights of illness. 
When he was only a few months old, his 
parents moved with him to a new home in 
Massachusetts, where his father, Doctor 
Charles Wood, continued his work among the 
sick. 

Soon afterwards the Civil War broke out, 
and the country needed as many men as pos- 
sible to fight for her safety. 

Now, Doctor Wood came of an old New 
England family filled with a strong love for 

114 



LEONARD WOOD 115 

its native land. He could think with pride 
of the time when the Mayflower came sailing 
into Plymouth Harbor, because it brought his 
ancestors, the parents of Peregrine White. 
How much they must have borne of danger 
and privation for the sake of their home in this 
new country! How many hardships must 
have befallen the little Peregrine, the first 
white child born in the colony! 

With such things to remember it is not 
strange that Doctor Wood promptly answered 
the call for volunteers and enlisted in a 
Massachusetts regiment to serve in the Civil 
War. Bidding his wife and little son good-by, 
he went bravely into the fight, not to return 
to a peaceful life till he was sent home an in- 
valid, a little while before the war ended. 

Three years afterwards the boy Leonard 
moved again with his parents to Pocasset, a 
town on Cape Cod where ocean breakers were 
constantly beating against the shore. 

The boy enjoyed his new life. He had al- 
ways loved the big outdoors; and now, for 
hours at a time, he was free to tramp over the 
hills and marshes and to sail on the waters so 
close at hand. 



n6 REAL AMERICANS 

Though the water was cold in those parts he 
soon became an expert swimmer. He also 
learned easily to manage a boat; and so, with 
the pleasures he could have that were free, he 
had no need to envy those boys whose parents 
had more money to spend than his own. 

With other lads of Pocasset he went to the 
village school where he soon showed a love of 
history. But he did not like mathematics. 
Figures were hateful things to him in those 
days, and the sooner an arithmetic lesson was 
over, the better. When a book of travels or 
adventure, however, was in his hands he 
quickly forgot himself in the happenings of 
the people about whom he was reading. 

When he had mastered the studies of the 
village school, he went to the academy at 
Middleboro, not many miles from his home. 
There he had many a good time with his mates 
who thought him shy and not very talkative. 
But they enjoyed his company because he en- 
tered heartily into their sports. Perhaps it 
was a game of football. Or perhaps it was a 
cross-country race. In either case, young 
Leonard Wood put his whole heart into what 
he was doing. 



LEONARD WOOD 117 

His studies at the academy did not interest 
him deeply, though he kept up with his class. 
Altogether, he did nothing astonishing in those 
days — nothing whatever to make people 
around him say: "That lad is a wonder. 
He'll be sure to make a name for himself some 
day." 

He seemed like most healthy, care-free 
boys. He learned his lessons and did what his 
parents bade him, but he enjoyed himself most 
when engaged in lively outdoor sports with his 
playfellows. 

He had certain dreams in those days. One 
of these was of joining the navy and sailing 
around the world. But he soon decided that 
it would not be wise for him to enter the navy; 
this country was at peace with other lands and 
consequently few things were happening in the 
navy. 

"No," he must have said to himself, "there 
would be little chance for me to get ahead in 
the navy." 

Already he had discovered that since his 
father's income was small, he must make his 
own way in the world, and it was sensible for 
him to choose something for his life work that 



n8 REAL AMERICANS 

would enable him to rise above his present con- 
dition. 

He was nearly "swept off his feet" about 
that time with the longing to join an expedi- 
tion bound for the frigid waters of the Arctic. 
He even went so far as to buy what equipment 
he would need for such a voyage. 

But his father spoke very decidedly against 
his going. He pointed out how many good 
chances his young son had to succeed right 
here in his own country. Then he referred 
to his own profession. 

"I would like well for you to follow in my 
steps," he told Leonard, "and become a physi- 
cian." 

So it came about that young Leonard Wood, 
twenty years old, entered the Medical School 
of Harvard University. 

He was kept pretty busy there not only with 
his studies, but earning enough money to pay 
his expenses. Fortunately, he had won a 
scholarship, and that helped in part. But to 
eke out the rest of the money needed he tutored 
backward students and did other jobs that 
came in his way. There was little time, there- 



LEONARD WOOD 119 

fore, for football, which he loved best of all 
sports, or for any other fun. 

Four years after he entered Harvard he 
graduated and began at once to practice sur- 
gery in the City Hospital at Boston. He also 
hung up his sign as a physician over a little 
office in the city slums where he had plenty 
of patients, though most of them were too poor 
to pay for his services. 

"He's a regular hog for work," one of his 
friends said of him at the time. 

This was quite true. People who watched 
him spoke again and again of the steady, un- 
tiring way in which this shy youth of few 
words was tending the sick and suffering who 
came under his care. 

But the young surgeon had no intention of 
settling in Boston. Long before, he had said 
to himself something like this: "I want to 
serve my country. I also want to see other 
parts of the United States than my New Eng- 
land home." 

When, therefore, he gave up hope of enter- 
ing the navy, he decided to join the army as 
soon as a good chance presented itself. That 
chance came after he had practiced in Boston 



120 REAL AMERICANS 

one year, managing barely to support himself 
during that time. Examinations for army sur- 
geons were to be given in New York City. 

"I will take them," decided the young man. 

He did take them, and so successfully that 
he stood second among the fifty-nine in the 
class. He was surprised and delighted that he 
had passed so well. But the important ques- 
tion arose at once in his mind, "Where shall 
I be sent?" 

There was no position as surgeon waiting to 
be filled in the army. But there were out- 
breaks among the Indians down in the South- 
west, and young Doctor Wood did not have 
to wait long before he was offered a post there. 

"Will you enter the United States service as 
a contract surgeon?" he was asked. 

"Yes, if I can go West and see active ser- 
vice," he answered. 

"You will certainly see as much of it as 
you wish," was the prompt reply. 

Soon afterwards — it was in the summer of 
1885 — young Wood was sent down to Arizona 
to be under the command of Captain Henry 
Lawton. The captain was already famous as 
an Indian fighter and was shortly to wage war 



LEONARD WOOD 121 



upon the fierce chief, Geronimo, who had 
been raiding the homes of white settlers and 
killing whole families. 

On the Fourth of July the young doctor 
reached the barracks where Captain Lawton 
was quartered. It was a broiling hot day, yet 
the heat did not prevent the soldiers and the 
settlers thereabouts from celebrating the holi- 
day in noisy, frontier fashion. There was 
much firing of gunpowder and drinking of 
strong liquor. The air was full of excitement. 

When Leonard Wood, fresh from the quiet, 
orderly life of Boston, made his way into the 
wild scene and stood before Captain Lawton, 
the latter looked him over doubtfully. 

"Can this shy, trim-looking young fellow be 
of any possible use chasing Indians?" he must 
have wondered. 

Then he spoke. "What in hell are you do- 
ing here?" he asked. 

"I want to get into line as soon as possible," 
was the prompt answer. 

The captain at once changed his mind about 
his visitor. 

"Come along," he said, "and I'll see what 
I can do to help you." 



122 REAL AMERICANS 

With these words he shook the young sur- 
geon's hand heartily and slapped his back in 
the spirit of good fellowship. 

The very next morning Leonard Wood was 
ordered out with the troops which were to 
hunt down Geronimo and his band. 

"You draw a special horse," said an old ser- 
geant, as the only animal which had not al- 
ready been assigned fell to the newcomer's 
share. 

A "special horse" indeed it was quickly 
found to be by the new trooper who had ridden 
horseback only a few times before in his life. 
To begin with, the creature was not fully 
broken. Moreover, it had a vicious temper. 

"That tenderfoot will never be able to keep 
his seat in the world," thought the rest of the 
troop. "He'll be thrown sooner or later." 

They did not reckon on Leonard Wood's 
disposition. It had always been his habit to 
finish anything he began to do. So now, when 
he started out to ride that ill-tempered horse, 
he set his teeth to do it. The very first day of 
the expedition he rode the animal thirty-five 
miles. Not a single fall did he have, either ! 

For the next five days he rode or marched 






LEONARD WOOD 123 

eighteen hours out of twenty-four on an aver- 
age, traveling over the roughest sort of country 
and with a scorching sun overhead most of the 
time. He was sore and burned and lamed by 
the unusual exercise. Often he was parched 
with thirst. But he never complained and al- 
ways had a smile for his comrades. 

In a few weeks he had toughened himself so 
that he could ride and march farther than any 
of the other troopers who were old, experi- 
enced hunters. They soon had great admira- 
tion for the "tenderfoot" who had joined 
them, and who showed himself untiring in the 
chase after the "human tigers," as Geronimo 
and his cruel band were called. 

Three months after his arrival Captain 
Lawton put so much trust in him that he was 
made a lieutenant and given the command of 
a picked force of men whose previous com- 
manders had broken down under the hard life. 

For fourteen months the hunt after Gero- 
nimo and his band was continued. All that 
time the way led through wild mountains and 
desert country where in some places even the 
pack mules could not go. There were days 
and nights when the soldiers lived as roughly 



124 REAL AMERICANS 

as red men, because their provisions had to 
be left behind. Often they went without 
water for twenty-four hours. 

Once Lieutenant Wood marched and rode 
for a straight thirty-six hours, traveling one 
hundred and thirty-six miles before stopping 
to rest. At another time he marched twenty- 
five miles, to take to his horse immediately 
afterwards — it was then nightfall — to ride in 
the darkness seventy miles without stopping. 
There must be no thought of weariness at this 
time either, because he was carrying important 
dispatches which should be delivered as soon 
as possible. 

For three long months the young lieutenant 
showed himself so determined and untiring 
that he astonished even the toughened Indian 
scouts who were with him. They discovered, 
to their surprise, that a white man fresh from 
civilized life could endure as much as they 
who had been trained to bear hardships from 
their babyhood. 

At last the savages in the Southwest were 
overcome, and young Wood himself made the 
cruel Geronimo captive and brought him to 
headquarters for judgment. 



LEONARD WOOD 125 

In the Indian campaign now over, he had 
served his country bravely and wisely, both as 
an officer commanding his men and as a sur- 
geon tending them when ill or wounded. 
Twelve years afterwards the United States 
Government rewarded him by bestowing upon 
him the most valuable decoration a warrior 
could receive at its hands. It was the Con- 
gressional Medal of Honor. 

After Geronimo had been brought to terms 
there was still work for Lieutenant Wood in 
searching for some Apaches who had escaped 
from his band. Leading a party of trained In- 
dian hunters, he spent five months in scouring 
the wild, rough country. Altogether he trav- 
eled more than two thousand miles before his 
search was rewarded. 

What had his hard, dangerous life done for 
him? It had made his body as strong as iron. 
It had strengthened his nerves. It had in- 
creased the power of his will. 

As there was no more fighting to do now, he 
probably wondered what his next duty 
would be. 

"There may be other struggles with the In- 
dians at some future time," considered Gen- 



i 2 6 REAL AMERICANS 

eral Miles, who was in command of the army 
in the Southwest. "So it will be wise to know 
the country as well as possible." 

General Miles had already used with suc- 
cess a certain system of signaling. The sig- 
nals had been given by means of sunlight flash- 
ing upon mirrors. 

"I will perfect this system," said the gen- 
eral, "in getting a thorough acquaintance with 
the Southwest and particularly with Ari- 
zona." 

He had already been pleased with Doctor 
Wood's good work and his interest in his sys- 
tem of giving signals. So he chose him to 
help in making a careful survey of Arizona. 

Several months were spent in this work, 
after which the young lieutenant was sent out 
to California to be a staff surgeon at the army 
headquarters in Los Angeles. 

It was a pleasant post. He had spare time 
in which to study the science of warfare, in 
which he was much interested. He also 
played football a good deal ; and this, you may 
remember, was his favorite game. 

During his stay in Los Angeles he had a 
chance to help his good friend, General Miles. 



LEONARD WOOD 127 

The general had been thrown from his horse 
and his leg broken and crushed in the fall. 
The first surgeons who were called to him 
said decidedly, "The leg must be cut off." 

If this had been done the general would 
never again have been fit for active service. 
But he was not willing to abide by the deci- 
sion of those who examined him. So, know- 
ing that young Wood was considered an ex- 
cellent surgeon, he sent for him, to learn 
whether he had a different opinion from those 
who had already seen the injured leg. 

"I'm going to leave it to you," he said. 
"You'll have to save it." 

When Doctor Wood had examined the leg 
carefully he said, "It is not necessary, in my 
opinion, to amputate it." 

Great must have been the general's relief 
at hearing such words. He at once declared 
that Wood should have the whole care of the 
leg; and so skilfully did the young surgeon 
tend him, setting the bones and bringing the 
torn and twisted ligaments into place, that his 
patient was in due time able to walk as well 
as ever before. 

Lieutenant Wood served at different posts 



128 REAL AMERICANS 

in California till he was sent to Fort Mc- 
Pherson in Georgia in 1892. He now had a 
wife to bear him company, because he had 
married some time before a charming girl 
whom he loved deeply. She enjoyed out- 
door sports as well as he did and, like him, 
cared little for grand houses and furniture. 
It was fortunate for the young army surgeon 
that he had chosen for his helpmate one who 
liked simple ways of living best. 

At Fort McPherson he still had plenty of 
time for outdoor exercise and soon won fame 
through the country around as a football 
player. 

One day, so it happened, he met with an 
accident in the ball field; a deep cut was 
made over one of his eyes, and the blood 
flowed freely. Do you imagine that he 
stopped playing because of his injury? In- 
deed not! Hastily dressing the wound, he 
went on with the game to the very end. 
Then he went to his office, where he cleansed 
the wound, after which he stood in front of 
his mirror and took four stitches in the torn 
flesh with his own hand. 

Though the young surgeon enjoyed his 



LEONARD WOOD 129 



life at Fort McPherson, he was not satisfied 
with it. He had too much ambition for 
that. 

"There is no big step in advancement ahead 
of me at this ra1;e," he thought. "There is no 
chance to distinguish myself, nor can I save 
up much money for my family." 

About this time he received orders to go 
to Washington. He was to become physi- 
cian of the Secretary of War and of the lead- 
ing army officers there. He might also at 
any time be called to give advice to the Presi- 
dent if he were ill. It was an easy, pleasant 
position to fill, but Captain Wood took it 
without particular delight because he could 
see no way to advancement there. 

"If no better office falls to me before many 
years," he said to himself, "I'll resign from 
the army and take up ranch life in the 
West." 

There, he felt sure, he could live in the 
outdoors as his own master, and possibly 
make a fortune besides. But when he had 
been for a while in Washington he bade 
good-by to his dreams of leaving the army. 
This was after he became acquainted with 



i 3 o REAL AMERICANS 

Theodore Roosevelt who was Assistant Secre- 
tary of the Navy at that time. 

The two men, Roosevelt and Wood, first 
met at a social gathering. Soon after they 
began to talk together they found they had 
many common interests. They had both 
graduated from Harvard. They both loved 
outdoor games and sports. They were both 
fond of the rough wild life of the West. 
They both believed in justice for all people. 
When the evening came to an end they walked 
home together, each feeling sure he had found 
a friend. 

After that they met often. They fenced 
and boxed and wrestled with each other. 
They played football and took long hikes to- 
gether. They skiid in winter down the hilly 
slopes of the country around Washington. 
With their young sons they had exciting mock 
Indian fights, with great fun for them all. 

And then how they talked! Indeed, yesl 
They told each other stories of their past lives, 
Roosevelt describing his adventures among 
the Indians and cowboys of Dakota, and 
Wood telling of long hunts after fierce red 
men in the Southwest. But there were other 



LEONARD WOOD 131 



exciting things for the two men to discuss 
besides what had happened to themselves. 
For example, reports were coming to Wash- 
ington of what was taking place among the 
Klondike miners in Alaska. Great fortunes 
were being made there among the gold dig- 
gers, but there was also great suffering in that 
cold, wild country. Physicians were needed 
when the miners fell ill. They were also in 
need of food and clothing. 

"Let us go to the Klondike on a relief expe- 
dition," Captain Wood proposed to Mr. 
Roosevelt 

But his companion said, "No." He pointed 
out that they both could be of great help where 
they were before long. He felt very sure that 
the United States would soon take up the cause 
of the Cubans. The Spaniards ruled them 
cruelly, and they were not strong enough to 
free themselves. They needed our assistance. 

So spoke Theodore Roosevelt; and his 
friend, feeling that he was right, gave up his 
plan of going to the Klondike. He saw that if 
the United States made war upon Spain she 
must have trained soldiers. So he decided to 
remain in the army that he might give his help 



132 REAL AMERICANS 

when the time should come. When it arrived 
at last, it found him ready with a plan for 
raising a regiment of volunteers. 

Theodore Roosevelt also was ready for 
active service. But when Mr. Alger, the Sec- 
retary of War, offered to make Mr. Roose- 
velt the colonel of a regiment of cavalry, he 
refused. He felt that he did not have enough 
experience for such a position. 

"I will accept the post of lieutenant colonel, 
however, if you will make Leonard Wood the 
colonel," he told Mr. Alger. The Secretary 
of War agreed to this proposal at once. Doc- 
tor Wood had been his family physician and 
as such had served him faithfully. He trusted 
and admired him deeply as a man of fine char- 
acter. He also knew how well he had fought 
in the war upon the Apaches. He felt sure 
that he was a good man to command a regi- 
ment of volunteers. 

When Leonard Wood had received his 
commission, he lost no time in going to Secre- 
tary Alger and asking him if he might go 
ahead with all preparations for raising and 
fitting out a regiment. 

The secretary, knowing full well that there 



LEONARD WOOD 133 

was much confusion in Washington over or- 
ganizing and training an army, must have felt 
relieved that here was one man who knew 
what he was about and would not make mis- 
takes. 

"Go right ahead and don't let me hear a 
word from you until your regiment is raised," 
he told the new colonel. 

In great delight Colonel Wood, with Lieu- 
tenant Colonel Roosevelt to help him, set to 
work near the end of April. You know al- 
ready what kind of men formed that regiment 
which soon came to be called the "Rough 
Riders." Star football players, college youths, 
and the sons of wealthy New York business 
men were banded together with cowboys, 
Texas ranchmen and Indians. They were full 
of spirit and joyful to be under the command 
of Wood and Roosevelt; but at the time they 
began their training they knew nothing of 
military behavior. 

So, without meaning to be disrespectful, / 
they were often "fresh," as boys would say, in 
their way of speaking to their officers. 

The army cook, for instance, came one day 
to Colonel Wood's tent where three majors 



i 3 4 REAL AMERICANS 

happened to be with him, and burst out, "If 
you fellers don't come soon, everything will 
get cold." 

At another time one of the volunteers called 
on Colonel Wood one evening and said to 
him: "Well, Colonel, I want to shake hands 
with you and say we're with you. We didn't 
know how we would like you fellers at first; 
but you're all right, and you know your busi- 
ness, and you mean business, and you can count 
on us every time." 

By these stories ycu can judge how un- 
trained in war these "Rough Riders" were and 
can understand better what a big work 
Colonel Wood accomplished in getting them 
into shape for fighting in the short time he 
had for doing it. 

It was exactly thirty-three days after he had 
begun to recruit the thousand men in his regi- 
ment that the Rough Riders had been gathered 
together, fitted out with arms and uniforms, 
and trained for war. 

They landed on the Island of Cuba on June 
22, and two days afterwards took part in the 
battle of La Guasimas, fighting so nobly that 
they won lasting fame. Some of them, at the 



LEONARD WOOD 135 

opening of the fight, got excited at being 
under fire for the first time, and began to 
curse. 

But Colonel Wood, close at hand and cool- 
headed, cried out, "Don't swear — shoot!" At 
that they too became cool; and, laughing, 
fought with all their might. 

"Wood is a great young man," wrote Rich- 
ard Harding Davis, the war correspondent, 
two days afterwards. "He has only one idea, 
or rather all his ideas run in one direction 
— his regiment. He eats and talks nothing 
else. He never sleeps more than four hours, 
and all the rest of the time he is moving about 
among the tents." 

The siege of Santiago followed close upon 
the battle of La Guasimas, and Colonel Wood 
was given charge of the brigade that stormed 
the city. 

So well did he do his duty that when the 
American troops had taken the city, General 
Wheeler said of him: "He showed energy, 
courage and good judgment. He deserved the 
highest commendation." 

Because of this high praise, the young offi- 
cer was at once made a brigadier-general and 



136 REAL AMERICANS 

when Santiago fell into American hands, 
he was made the military commander of the 
city. New and difficult work was ahead of 
him. 

It is hard for us to imagine how much 
there was for him to do. The Spaniards who 
had ruled Santiago had taxed the people 
heavily, but had taken the money they received 
for their own use instead of spending it for 
the city's good. Think of it! There were no 
drains except the street gutters. Buildings 
were tumbling down for want of repair. 
Children were without schools. The streets 
were not cleaned. Smallpox and deadly fevers 
were allowed to rage and there were no hospi- 
tals for the sick. Dead animals and sometimes 
dead human beings lay unburied in public 
places. 

Into this wretched city Leonard Wood was 
sent to bring order and cleanliness. 

"What shall I do first?" he must have asked 
himself. 

The answer came instantly: the dead must 
be buried; the streets must be cleaned; the 
people, many of whom were starving, must be 
fed. 






LEONARD WOOD 137 

"Horrible, deadly work it was," he after- 
wards said. 

Night and day he kept men busy removing 
the filth from the streets. He saw that the 
bodies of people and animals which were still 
unburied were carried outside the city and 
burned. Food was sent to hospitals and 
prisons and all other places where starving 
men, women and children were gathered; 
medicines were taken to the many who lay ill 
with fever. A hospital was set up on an island 
in the harbor for patients ill with yellow fever. 

As you can easily see, there was scant time 
for the new commander of Santiago to take 
rest. But he did not wish to rest. His mind 
was too busy planning, directing, working 
with might and main to bring health and com- 
fort and order to the place given into his 
charge. And before he finished his tremen- 
dous task, hospitals had been built; roads had 
been improved; drains had been dug; the city 
streets had been made clean; and illness had 
been largely done away with. 

Doesn't it almost take away your breath to 
think what that quiet, wise man accomplished 
in a few months? With it all, he won the love 



138 REAL AMERICANS 



of the people. Though he could speak little 
of their language when he first came among 
them, they quickly learned to trust him as 
their friend. 

The American Government was so pleased 
with Wood's work that the very next year he 
was made Governor General of the Island of 
Cuba and raised in the army to the post of 
Major General of United States Volunteers. 
In the meantime he had become a world hero. 

Though he had succeeded so wonderfully 
in Santiago, would he succeed as well in a 
still greater undertaking? He knew well that 
the whole island of Cuba was like a house 
which has fallen to pieces and has to be built 
up from the very foundation. Its money had 
been used by Spanish rulers. Its children 
had no free schoolhouses to attend. Fever 
stalked through the land. It was without 
orderly government. Yet Wood set bravely 
to work to overcome all difficulties. 

Let us see what he accomplished. He 
changed many bad laws made by the Span- 
iards. He set up free schools throughout the 
land. He fought against the spread of the 
deadly yellow fever, which with his help was 



LEONARD WOOD 139 

conquered in due time. He built hospitals. 
He saw that prisoners received decent treat- 
ment. 

In all these things and many others he 
wisely let the Cubans themselves help him as 
much as possible. He even sent young Cuban 
girls to the United States to be trained to 
teach, instead of bringing American teachers 
into the country. He wished to have the 
people feel in every way that he was getting 
them ready to rule themselves as soon as they 
should be able. 

In all ways, he strove for the good of 
others and not for himself. Once, indeed, a 
firm of American business men offered him a 
salary of forty thousand dollars a year to give 
up his post in Cuba and work for them. He 
was told that he would have short hours and 
an easy position. 

What a tempting proposal to any one labor- 
ing from twelve to twenty-four hours a day, 
in the midst of great difficulties, and on a 
salary of little more than a third of that 
offered 1 

But Leonard Wood's heart was with his 
country. To help her, — that had become his 



140 REAL AMERICANS 

chief happiness. Money and ease counted 
little beside the chance to work for those the 
United States had taken under her care. 

So the offer was refused and he stayed on in 
Cuba till his task was finished and the people 
there were able to rule themselves. And when 
he left Cuba a republic, he was followed by 
the good wishes of her grateful citizens. 

During his life in Cuba he suffered at times 
from malarial fever, due to the hot, moist 
climate. He was also crippled by a fall from 
his horse and because of this he has ever since 
been a little lame. 

Soon after his return to the United States 
our Government sent him to Germany to study 
the military methods of that country. During 
his stay there he met many of the leading 
officers and statesmen of Europe, and he was 
entertained with honor by the German 
Emperor. 

But all the time his main thought was, 
"What can I learn of military training from 
the most powerful army of the world?" 

He came away with the strong belief that 
the United States should be prepared for war 
as Germany was. Then, if war came, there 



LEONARD WOOD 141 

would be little to fear. Some time after his 
return home he had a long talk with his old 
friend, Theodore Roosevelt, who had become 
the President of the United States. 

In his talk the President spoke of the 
troubles which William Howard Taft, the 
Governor General of the Philippine Islands, 
was having with some of the fierce tribes there. 
The most savage of these were the Moros, 
many of whom were lawless robbers on the 
land and pirates in the waters along the shores. 
Because of their cruel treatment of their 
enemies they were called head-hunters. 

"Some one," President Roosevelt said to 
his friend, "should be sent to the Philippines 
to change the Moros into a peaceful people." 

General Wood answered at once, "Why not 
send me?" 

The idea pleased the President. He felt at 
once that the man who had done so much for 
the good of the Cubans could succeed with 
the Moros, though his task would be even 
harder than in Cuba. 

In this way it came about that Leonard 
Wood started on a long voyage to the Philip- 
pine Island of Mindanao a short time after- 



142 REAL AMERICANS 

wards. He stopped in various places on the 
way — in Egypt, India and Ceylon — to learn 
how the strange peoples there were kept in 
order. Then he went on to take up the under- 
taking ahead of him. 

Oh, but it was a big one, bigger than he 
had dreamed ! From the very beginning trials 
and dangers surrounded him. First of all the 
American army officers already on the island 
were jealous of him. They thought, "Wood 
has been sent out here to command us simply 
because he is a favorite of President Roose- 
velt." 

They soon discovered, however, that this 
quiet man with weather-beaten face always 
did just the right thing. They also found that 
he was kind and just, that he would accept no 
comforts which he could not share with his 
men, and that every faithful act of theirs was 
bound to be rewarded by him. As for fight- 
ing, when that was necessary, he never held 
back for his own safety. Where danger was, 
there he was too. It was not long, therefore, 
before the soldiers under his command became 
his devoted friends, loving him so deeply that 
they would have given their lives for him. 



LEONARD WOOD 143 

But the wild, fierce Moros? How were 
they to be changed? This was a tremendous 
problem, but Wood solved it as he had solved 
other problems before. The most important 
thing, he quickly saw, was to make friends of 
the native chiefs who were busy warring upon 
each other. 

He, therefore, traveled about among them, 
showing that he wished to aid them, and 
whenever he could, he gave them important 
posts. On the other hand, he made them 
understand that they must aid him by keeping 
order among their followers and giving up 
their attacks on other districts. 

Next he made and enforced laws for the 
good of the people. Sometimes he was 
obliged to lead his soldiers against cruel, 
wicked chiefs who would not listen to reason 
and kind words. At such times he was in the 
midst of danger because he never held back 
from the thick of the fight. 

The need of this fighting soon came to an 
end. He could now put all his energies into 
doing away with head-hunting, making slaves 
of men and women and little children, and 
other cruel customs of the Moros and the 



144 REAL AMERICANS 

people on small neighboring islands. He 
opened schools where their children could be 
taught so they might grow up into kind, wise 
men and women. He set up stations where the 
natives could buy food at proper prices and 
not be imposed upon by profiteers. He sent 
patrol boats along the coast to prevent the 
work of pirates. He even induced whole 
families who had lived wild, lawless lives to 
settle in little homes and raise cocoa, cocoanuts 
and hemp in the land around them. 

Wonderful things he accomplished in less 
than three years, in spite of the greatest 
difficulties. Then, when order was at last es- 
tablished on the Island of Mindanao, the 
American Government made him commander 
of all our Philippine troops, and he set to 
work at once to make strong the defences of 
the country and to train his army. 

At last, in the year 1908, General Wood's 
great work in the Philippines was finished, 
and he left the Far East. He must have been 
very happy because he had won the love, not 
only of his soldiers, but of the Filipinos them- 
selves. 

On his way home to the United States he 



LEONARD WOOD 145 

stopped in different countries to study the 
training of armies. Soon after he arrived 
here he was made commander of the troops 
making up the Department of the East. His 
headquarters were on Governor's Island in 
New York Harbor. 

Two years afterwards the Argentine Re- 
public in South America held a centennial 
celebration. 

"No more fitting ambassador could be sent 
there to represent us than Brigadier General 
Wood," decided the United States Govern- 
ment. 

Accordingly, General Wood left this 
country once more on his mission to Argen- 
tine. There he talked about the ways of war 
with distinguished generals who had come 
from other parts of the world to take part in 
the celebration. 

All the time he was busily thinking. And 
this was his principal thought: "The United 
States is not prepared for war. It should be 
prepared even if it never has to fight." 

In another two years — it was in 19 10 — he 
was made Chief -of -Staff of the United States 



146 REAL AMERICANS 

Army, and the City of Washington became his 
headquarters. 

Four years passed away. During that time 
the general worked as hard as he could for the 
safety of his country. He was still thinking, 
"We should be prepared for war if it is thrust 
upon us." Among other things he demanded 
airplanes for the army. 

"If war should come," he tried to show our 
government, "airplanes would be of the great- 
est help." But Congress did not heed his de- 
mand. 

A new President, Woodrow Wilson, came 
into office and General Wood lost his position 
as Chief-of-Staff and was sent back to Gov- 
ernor's Island to take command again of the 
Department of the East. There, as before, 
he worked with zeal for what he believed with 
all his heart was right — Preparedness. 

In 1914 the Great War broke out in Europe 
with such suddenness that people gasped. 

In those first exciting days President Wil- 
son said, "We must remain neutral, even in 
thought." 

Did Wood obey this direction? No, he 
simply could not. Instead, he busied himself 



LEONARD WOOD 147 

with a training school for officers on Lake 
Champlain. He also stirred thoughtful men 
all over the country to form student training 
camps. He worked, oh, how hard he worked, 
to rouse people everywhere to the crying need 
for preparedness. 

Why did he do this? Because he felt sure 
that America would be drawn into the war. 
He said to himself and to others, "She can not 
stay out." And as he loved his country with 
all his heart he felt that she must be ready, 
when the time came, to do her part and do it 
nobly. 

At last, in April, 1917, the United States 
entered the war. Then, in the exciting days 
of getting an army together, it was plain to 
every one what a great work General Wood 
had done in interesting the people of his 
country in the "Plattsburg Idea." What kind 
of an army would we have had to send to 
Europe if officers had not been trained to 
command the raw recruits? One of little 
value indeed, able to give small help to the 
weary, well-nigh discouraged Allies. 

Having done such important service for his 
country and the world, General Wood asked 



148 REAL AMERICANS 

that he might be given a military position 
across the ocean, now that the United States 
had entered the war. He received no reply 
from Washington whatever. 

Furthermore, instead of having his wish 
granted, he was offered one of three compara- 
tively unimportant posts in this country. He 
chose the one at Charleston, South Carolina, 
where he was soon busy setting up training 
camps in the Southeast. Then, when August 
came, he was sent to Camp Funston, in Kan- 
sas, to train a division of troops there. Later 
on he was ordered to Europe, — but not to take 
any command there. He was merely to go as 
an observer of war operations. 

There, as it happened, he nearly met his 
death. He was standing one day with some 
French officers behind a gun crew about to 
fire a mortar. Suddenly the shell inside the 
gun burst, blowing up the whole crew and 
killing four officers on either side of General 
Wood. He alone of all the men near the mor- 
tar was not killed, though six pieces of shell 
entered his clothes, and his left arm was badly 
wounded. 

After a short stay in a French hospital he 



LEONARD WOOD 149 

came back to the United States, well and 
strong as ever, to command once more the 89th 
Division in training at Camp Funston. 

The time came when the division was 
ready to go overseas, and General Wood had 
high hopes that now at last, as their comman- 
der, he would be ordered to Europe. 

Alas! When he reached New York with 
them and the day for sailing was at hand, he 
had a bitter disappointment: he received an 
order from Washington to cross the continent 
to take command of the Western Division at 
San Francisco. He must, therefore, part from 
his troops! With a voice which he could not 
quite keep from trembling he spoke to his men 
when he had reviewed them for the last time. 

"I will not say good-by," he told them, "but 
consider it a temporary situation — at least I 
hope so. I worked hard for you and you have 
done excellent work. I had hoped to take you 
over to the other side. The orders have been 
changed and I am to go back to Funston. I 
leave for there to-morrow morning. I wish 
you the best of luck and I ask you to keep the 
high standard of conduct you have had in the 
past. There isn't anything to be said. The 



150 REAL AMERICANS 

order stands, and the only thing to do is to do 
the best we can — all of us — to win the war. 
That's what we're here for, that's what we've 
been trained for. Good luck and God bless 
you." 

After General Wood had finished speaking, 
he shook the hand of each soldier of the divi- 
sion. 

When the news spread through the country 
that this man, who at the beginning of the war 
was the officer of the highest rank in the 
United States, was being treated in what 
seemed such an undeserved way, there was a 
great outcry. 

The result was that the order sending Wood 
to California was changed; he was directed to 
go back to Camp Funston and remain there to 
train another division. 

Here ends the story of Leonard Wood's part 
in the Great War. Why was it not a more dis- 
tinguished one? Why was he held back from 
active work in Europe? We cannot say. We 
know this, however: He was a brave and tried 
soldier, rich in experience, wise in great 
measure, and devoted to his duty. We know 
also that the British and French Premiers 




Com/right i nderwood & Underwood, N. Y. 
GENERAL Wool) VISITS PRESIDENT HARDING AT THE 
WHITE HOUSE 



LEONARD WOOD 151 

wished for his help across the ocean, and that 
the spirit of the American people echoed that 
wish. But, since he was not permitted to go, 
he continued without complaint to do what- 
ever duties fell to him on this side of the ocean 
till the War ended. 

Then, when the armistice had been signed, 
he found new work to do. Our soldiers, re- 
turning home, needed help in finding ways of 
supporting themselves. So, like the kindest 
of fathers, he strove to aid them in every way 
he could. 

Busy months followed till in 1920 the time 
came to choose a new President of the United 
States. Tens of thousands of people now 
thought, "No better man could hold that high 
office than Leonard Wood." 

In the end, however, the choice did not fall 
to him, but to Warren G. Harding, who, after 
he became President, rewarded General 
Wood's years of noble service by making him 
Governor General of the Philippines. 

Leonard Wood has a deep place in the 
hearts of his countrymen. They feel that this 
brave, untiring general who has conducted 
himself so nobly wherever he has been placed, 



152 REAL AMERICANS 

whether in righting Indians, in bringing 
health and order and decent living to Cuba 
and the Philippines, or in training soldiers to 
help in ending the Great War, has ever shown 
himself a real American. 



JOHN BURROUGHS 

Nature's Lover 

Are you not fond of the birds? And do you 
not have fresh happiness each springtime 
when the merry little songsters are at hand to 
remind you that "The world's bubbling over 
with joy?" 

No doubt you have heard somewhat of 
"John o' birds," as that big-hearted man, John 
Burroughs, has often been called because of 
his friendship for the feathered folk. The fact 
is, he was not only the friend and lover of birds 
but of all other beautiful things in the world, 
■ — trees and flowers; brooks cheerily flow- 
ing over stony beds; moss-decked rocks jutting 
out of the hillsides; bees sucking honey in 
opening blossoms ; frogs piping hoarsely along 
the water's edge. With all these "John o' 
birds" felt equally at home. Why, he was 
scarcely more than a baby when he began to 

153 



154 REAL AMERICANS 

read the story of love and beauty written all 
about him over the earth, — better still, to feel 
himself a part of that story. 

It was the good fortune of John Burroughs 
to grow up on a farm in the village of Rox- 
bury which lies among the Catskill Moun- 
tains in the State of New York. His father's 
fields stretched low down on a slope of the 
mountain, Old Clump, and close at hand was 
the Pepacton River, with pretty little trout 
streams flowing into it. There were horses and 
cows, sheep and pigs and chickens on the 
farm, and there were woods where little John 
often played with his brothers when he was 
old enough to go there with them. 

When he was born — it was on the third of 
April, 1837 — there were already four boys and 
two girls in the family to welcome him, so you 
may well believe the household was a lively 
one. 

The gentle Mrs. Burroughs was a very busy 
woman. Besides her other work, she made 
butter, — more than two tons of it during the 
year! Moreover, she spun the wool sheared 
from the sheep, and carded flax raised in 
bf .usband's fields, and afterwards wove 



JOHN BURROUGHS 155 

cloth from it and made it into garments for her 
big family. 

Among the first sights John's bright eyes 
looked upon were his mother's spinning wheel 
and the distaff on which she carded wool. But 
more interesting than these, no doubt, was the 
big churn when cream had been poured inside, 
and a patient dog or sheep set to the task of 
turning the cream into golden butter. 

While the little fellow was still too small to 
share in the outdoor work he learned to be 
useful to his mother in many ways. He helped 
her make soap. He dipped candles and sepa- 
rated the curds from the whey. At first he 
was very fond of the curds. But one day he 
ate of them so heartily that he lost his taste 
for them ever afterwards. 

He was about four years old when a most ex- 
citing day came in his life, — he went to school 
for the first time. As he trudged along to the 
schoolhouse he must have felt quite proud 
of his new suit of clothes of his mother's 
making. It was of striped homespun, and it 
had epaulets on the shoulders that flapped as 
the wind struck them. His feet were bare, 
like those of his brothers and sisters, because 



156 REAL AMERICANS 

shoes were not worn by any of the children ex- 
cept in the coldest winter weather. 

The district schoolhouse came in sight at 
last, and when John had once entered the little 
building, which seemed a wonderful one to 
him, he was quickly set to work to learn the 
alphabet. 

During the next few days he was called up, 
again and again, before his teacher to point 
out the names of queer signs standing in a 
column of the spelling book. As they had no 
meaning for him, it was some time before he 
made no mistakes in telling c from e, and m 
from n. At last, however, the tiresome alpha- 
bet was mastered, and after that John learned 
to read rapidly. Indeed, he got his lessons so 
easily that he was not long in surpassing chil- 
dren much older than himself. 

He wasn't a "goody goody" boy, because he 
sometimes broke the rules. It must be con- 
fessed that, as he sat figuring out "sums" or 
poring over a map of the world, he would now 
and then take a stolen bite from a juicy apple 
which had been hidden in his pocket to be 
eaten in school. 

Worse still, he was actually known to play 



JOHN BURROUGHS 157 

truant, though he enjoyed his school im- 
mensely. But then, the temptation was very 
great at such times. Almost any other boy 
who loved to fish in near-by mountain brooks 
as well as he did would also have been tempted 
to forget lessons when the summer sun was 
shining brightly, and pictures of fishlines and 
bait and silvery trout persisted in dancing 
about his mind. 

Though John was generally a happy little 
fellow, he did not enjoy all the tasks set for 
him. For instance, there was hoeing potatoes. 
Tiresome, uninteresting work it seemed to 
him, and yet his brothers did not mind it. 
They and their sisters were exactly the 
kind of children one would expect to be 
born and brought up on a farm. They 
took it as a matter of course to do the 
things their parents did. They did not dream 
dreams as John did. Neither did they seem 
to enjoy the beauty of a blue heron flying over- 
head, or wonder at the passage of an eagle 
high up towards the sky as he did. Nor did 
the roses and other wild flowers blossoming in 
the fields around the farmhouse seem such 



158 REAL AMERICANS 

marvels of beauty to them as they did to little 
John. 

"He's the odd one of the family," Mr. Bur- 
roughs probably said many a time. 

This father was a blustering but kind- 
hearted man whose "bark was worse than his 
bite." He often threatened to punish his 
children, but seldom did so. John, however, 
had one whipping at his hands, which he 
richly deserved. 

"Head off that cow," the father called to 
him one day when the animal was making her 
way into a meadow of tall grass. 

But John did not obey the command though 
he could easily have done so. To his surprise 
a sound punishment speedily followed, prob- 
ably for his good ever afterwards. 

Among the little boy's pleasures was the joy 
of making his own toys. He shaped them out 
of wood with a clumsy knife. Though he did 
not realize it, he had heaps more fun with 
those toys than if they had been bought in a 
big store in New York City. They were his 
own in every sense. 

Though he did not enjoy all his tasks, there 
was one which was always delightful. This 



JOHN BURROUGHS 159 

was berrying, with his mother for company. 
How delicious were the wild strawberries 
which his keen blue eyes discovered in their 
hiding places among the grass! How sweet 
was their fragrance as it greeted his nostrils! 
And the raspberries! The joy of gathering 
them more than repaid the lad for his labor. 
How beautiful seemed the blue sky as he 
looked up towards it, after bending his head 
down over the bushes! How softly the sum- 
mer breeze blew about his face and cooled his 
hot cheeks ! 

From year to year, therefore, the little fel- 
low looked forward with special delight to 
the berrying season. 

When John was seven years old, something 
happened which was more exciting to him 
than his first day in school. He made the dis- 
covery that the world was a wonder-worldl 

It came about in this way: the little boy 
was out in the Deacon Woods one bright 
spring day. Lying on his back, he was idly 
looking up towards the tree tops, when he 
heard a soft rustle overhead. And then, from 
the deep shadow of the branches, a bird flew 
out, unlike any John had seen before. It was 



160 REAL AMERICANS 

small — not so large as a bluebird or robin. 
Though its back was blue, its throat was black. 
It had a beautiful song. 

What was the name of the bird? From 
what part of the country had it come? "Its 
home is not here in the Deacon Woods," 
thought John, "because I have never seen it 
before." 

The young watcher, leaping up, followed 
the bird's flight with his eyes as far as he 
could, wishing to know more about the tiny 
warbler, for such it was. But it was soon out 
of sight. As the warbler disappeared, the lad 
followed it in fancy into the big world beyond 
the Deacon Woods and his father's farm. Was 
that world full of strange and wonderful 
sights? Why, these very woods which he had 
supposed he knew thoroughly must also hold 
mysteries to which his eyes had been blind 
hitherto. And then, beyond them — why, there 
must be countless wonders to be seen! 

After his discovery on that beautiful spring 
day, John did not mind digging potatoes, 
cleaning the pig pen, and doing other disagree- 
able tasks. The reason was that while his 
hands were hard at work, he was still free to 



JOHN BURROUGHS 161 

dream about the streams where he went fish- 
ing, the birds and flowers he already knew 
well, and other things he was yet to become ac- 
quainted with. 

John enjoyed fishing hugely. Sometimes 
his love of it made him disobey his father's 
command that his trout line must never be used 
on Sunday. Indeed, the lovely Pepacton River 
and the silvery streams flowing out of it 
seemed to beg him as hard on Sunday as on 
other days to snare the shiny graceful trout 
playing in the waters. 

Some of the boy's happiest fishing days were 
spent with his Grandfather Kelly. Perhaps 
it was largely because the old man liked to tell 
stories of ghosts and witches and hobgoblins, 
"scarey" enough to raise the hair on the head, 
while the two wandered along beside shady 
streams, looking for good places to cast their 
lines. 

"Company" days in John's home were al- 
ways joyous ones for the boy. Then it was 
that uncles and aunts, cousins and grand- 
parents were entertained, and there was feast- 
ing on wheat bread, rich preserves and fat, 
juicy pies of the mother's making. When 



1 62 REAL AMERICANS 

John became a man he wrote about those par- 
ticularly happy days: "When we would come 
in at dinner or supper time and see wheat 
bread on the table we would ask, 'Who's in the 
other room?' 

"Maybe the answer would be, 'Your Uncle 
Martin and Aunt Virey.' How glad I would 
be! I always liked to see company. Well, the 
living was better and then company brought a 
new element in the day; it gave a little tinge of 
romance to things. To wake up in the morn- 
ing and think that Uncle Martin and Aunt 
Virey were there, or Uncle Edmund and Aunt 
Saliny, quickened the pulse a little. Or when 
any of my cousins came — near my own age 
■ — what joy filled the days I" 

Sometimes, like other boys in his neighbor- 
hood, John went hunting in the country round 
about, but he seldom brought home much 
game, perhaps because he had too tender a 
heart to kill the shy, wild creatures. 

It happened on a certain spring day that im- 
mense flocks of wild pigeons came flying over 
the farm. There were thousands upon thou- 
sands of them. Their outspread blue wings 
shut out the sky. All at once some of the 



JOHN BURROUGHS 163 

birds began to fly downwards into the woods 
on a near-by hillside. Others kept following 
till the woods became alive with them. The 
pigeons seemed everywhere, the lovely crea- 
tures fluttering close together among the 
branches of the trees, or nestling together on 
the ground, making a live carpet of thick blue- 
ness. 

As the birds passed by overhead and entered 
the beechwood, John watched them intently, 
as if spellbound. Then, getting an old musket, 
he hurried down the road to the wall which 
shut in the woods. Creeping up behind it, he 
aimed his gun at the great mass of soft-voiced 
birds. 

And then? There was no report from the 
old gun, for the reason that John did not pull 
the trigger. He didn't know why, but he 
couldn't. Something in his heart must have 
held him back. Perhaps it was the helpless- 
ness of the beautiful creatures which were at 
his mercy. Perhaps it was their beauty. Per- 
haps the sweet music which came from thou- 
sands of tiny throats cast a spell upon him. 

At any rate, there stood the farmer's son, 
motionless, watching the wonderful sight till, 



1 64. REAL AMERICANS 

all at once, there was a mighty roaring sound 
as the multitude of birds rose with a sudden 
impulse and flew away. 

When they had gone, John was filled with 
shame. What a chance he had lost! As it 
happened, it was a chance that never came 
again, though there were many flights of 
pigeons over that part of the country in after 
years. 

At another time the boy lost a second rare 
opportunity. It came on a cold, midwinter 
day. He had heard the baying of a hound on 
the mountain slope near his home. 

"The dog has scented game," he thought. 

Seizing his musket, he hurried to the woods 
on the mountain slope and placed himself near 
the probable pathway of the wild creature 
which the hound was no doubt pursuing. 
Then he stood still, gun in hand, waiting, 
watching. 

He had not long to wait. Suddenly there 
was a rustling among the dry leaves on the 
ground, and the next instant a large, hand- 
some fox appeared before the young hunter's 
eyes. The fox was fleeing from his dog- 
enemy, unaware that still greater danger was 



JOHN BURROUGHS 165 

close at hand from a boy with a loaded musket. 

And John? Well, the picture of that su- 
perb creature so filled his mind that there was 
no room in it for thought of shooting. He did 
not even move till the fox had disappeared 
from sight. Then, too late, he raised his 
musket to his shoulder. 

"Foolish fellow!" his family called him 
when he went home and told what he had 
missed. 

When he tried to give a reason why he had 
not shot at the fox he said, "I had my mitten 
on and could not reach the trigger of my gun." 

Something far different from a mittened 
hand, however, was undoubtedly the reason of 
his failure. It was this : the beauty of the fox 
had made the boy's will stand still. John was 
different from other boys, without question. 
That time it made him a laughing stock, and 
for long afterwards, when he did not succeed 
in doing something expected of him, he was 
likely to hear these words, "John had his mit- 
ten on, I guess." 

Ah ! but he was a happy lad to whom every 
season brought fresh joys and discoveries. 
Yet no part of the year seemed to him quite 



1 66 REAL AMERICANS 

so full of beauty and wonder as the springtime. 
As soon as March arrived he watched for 
Mother Nature's waking from her winter 
sleep. Then the birds which had been absent 
for months began to appear, blue jays and 
bobolinks, song sparrows, robins and nut- 
hatches. He knew the names and habits of 
them all and what kind of nesting places they 
would choose. He loved each one. 

Now was the time to start on merry climbs 
up Old Clump, on whose slopes the snow was 
already melting and from whose summit tiny 
streams were beginning to trickle down to the 
meadows below. Already, as John had dis- 
covered, spring was whispering softly to the 
drowsy trees, and as they wakened at her call 
buds began to burst forth on every twig. The 
wild flowers were also appearing now in little 
nooks sheltered from the wind. John's eyes 
were so well trained that he knew just where 
to seek them. 

It was also great sport to welcome his 
friends, the squirrels and rabbits, as they came 
frisking through the woods after long idle days 
in hollow tree trunks and burrows. And, out of 
the whole neighborhood, he was often the first 



JOHN BURROUGHS 167 

to discover that the sap had started to flow in 
the maples. There were fine maple woods on 
his father's farm, and when the time arrived 
for the "sugaring," busy exciting days fol- 
lowed for the whole Burroughs family. 

No one could have been happier than John 
now, as he did his share of the work of tapping 
the trees, gathering the sap, and boiling it 
down in huge caldrons over blazing wood 
fires. 

Sometimes the sugaring came in late 
March; sometimes in early April, the month 
which John loved best. 

He has said of it, "One is just in time, so to 
speak, to catch the first train, which is made 
up in this month." 

He also said, "April is my natal month, and 
I am born again into new delight and new sur- 
prises at each return of it. Its two sylla- 
bles are like the calls of the first birds — like 
that of the phoebe bird or of the meadow 
lark." 

John's observant eyes were useful to him in 
many ways, and particularly when he was 
the first in the neighborhood to discover that 
the maple sap had begun to flow. This was be- 



1 68 REAL AMERICANS 

cause an early harvest of sugar was easily 
sold, and at a higher price than could be ob- 
tained afterwards. 

For instance, the boy wished much one 
spring for certain books, — an algebra and a 
grammar. But he had no money with which 
to buy them. 

"Perhaps," he thought, "father will give it 
to me." 

So, going to his father, he asked for the 
money which he felt he needed for a good 
purpose : buying books which would help him 
to be wiser. 

Mr. Burroughs was a loving father, but he 
was ignorant. 

"Why should John be so eager for book 
learning?" he often wondered. "He isn't a 
bit like his brothers and sisters." 

And now, when the boy asked for an 
algebra, he was really puzzled. He didn't 
even know what the word meant. 

"What is an algebra?" he asked. 

When John explained, he could not under- 
stand any better what use such a book could 
be to any one who was to earn his living rais- 
ing hay and potatoes. So he shook his head 



JOHN BURROUGHS 169 

and refused to give the money. John walked 
away with a heavy heart. 

Now came his mother's turn. She knew 
less about books than her husband. She was 
able to read only a little, and could not write 
or cipher at all. Yet she must have felt 
that this young son who, like her, kept many 
of his thoughts to himself, should be granted 
his request for the book with a strange name, 
and when John had turned away, she begged 
her husband to let the boy have his wish. Be- 
cause of her pleading, probably, the father 
relented and shouted after John that he would 
let him have the money. 

By this time, however, the lad was so stirred 
by the feeling that he had not been treated 
justly that he did not turn back. 

"I can wait," he said to himself, "and I will 
wait till I can earn enough money to buy not 
only an algebra but the other books I wish 
for." 

He did earn it, too, by tapping some maple 
trees early in the season and boiling the sap 
down to sugar which he sold for a good price. 
After selling it, he sought out Jay Gould, one 
of his schoolmates who afterwards became one 



170 REAL AMERICANS 

of the richest men in the world. Jay, as he 
knew, had a grammar and an algebra he no 
longer needed. A trade was promptly made. 
Jay became richer by eighty cents, and John 
by the possession of the books he had longed 
for. 

In course of time an academy was built in 
Roxbury and John longed to attend it. But 
he was not allowed to do so. 

"The district school near us is good enough 
for any one," his father told this son who, he 
believed, would never be of much account in 
the world. Consequently John never entered 
the academy except to attend exhibitions there. 
These exhibitions were so interesting, how- 
ever, that they roused in him longings to know 
as much about books as the boys who took part 
in them. To be sure, Mother Nature had al- 
ready taught him many things in her own vast 
schoolroom ; yet he felt that the schools of men 
could help him also. 

So months went by, in which John worked 
steadily on his father's farm. At last he 
gained the courage to ask Mr. Burroughs if 
he might go for a while to a seminary some 



JOHN BURROUGHS 171 

distance away at Harpersfield. Joyful was the 
youth when the answer was, "Yes." 

Never had he worked with lighter heart 
than now. There was ploughing to be done — 
he had not been strong enough for it before — 
and he tackled it manfully. His heart sang as 
he drove the plough over the field, and en- 
chanting visions of study at the academy made 
the world around him seem like fairyland. 

Alas! when the time came for the promise 
to be kept, John's sky grew suddenly black. 
His father had said to him, "I can't send you 
to Harpersfield." 

The fact was, money was scarce in the house- 
hold. Besides, John's older brother had never 
gone to an academy. So why should the 
family do without something really needed in 
order that John might go? 

There was nothing left, consequently, for 
the disappointed youth to do except to go to 
the district school the following winter with 
thi9 idea in his mind : "I will know enough to 
teach a school myself when spring comes. 
Teaching will give me ready money." 

So it came about, that young John Bur- 
roughs, seventeen years old, found himself at 



172 REAL AMERICANS 

the village of Tongore, in charge of his first 
school, with a salary of ten dollars a month 
to begin with. He was to "board around" 
in the homes of his pupils. 

His journey to Tongore had been a most 
exciting one, because after a twelve-mile ride 
with his father, he had gone the rest of the 
way in a stagecoach. To him that big, clumsy 
vehicle drawn by four horses was no doubt 
a very marvelous one. 

The young teacher, away from home for 
the first time, had many longings for the dear 
ones back in Roxbury. Even the sound of the 
frogs piping their first spring songs made his 
homesickness greater, for they had always 
been heard before in the meadows of the Rox- 
bury farm. There were visions, too, of the 
roses blooming by the house; of the trout 
brooks beside which he had spent so many 
summer days; of climbs up the slopes of Old 
Clump. 

Soon, however, he became interested in his 
pupils. Besides, he enjoyed being treated to 
the best their simple homes offered. He al- 
ways had the honor of sleeping in the "best 
room,'" and pie and hot biscuit were com- 



JOHN BURROUGHS 173 



monly served him for supper because of his 
important position as the village school- 
master. 

When autumn came he went back to Rox- 
bury with nearly fifty dollars in his pocket. 
What was he going to do with this money? 
Spend it, of course, in getting a better educa- 
tion. 

That autumn he went to the Hedding 
Literary Institute in the next county, remain- 
ing there for three months and studying faith- 
fully. He wrote such good compositions there 
that, country lad as he was, he stood at the 
head of the whole school of two or three 
hundred pupils in this course. 

Spring came all too soon, and the youth 
of eighteen had to think of earning more 
money. 

"Perhaps," he said to himself, "I can get a 
school down in New Jersey where other 
fellows whom I know are teaching." 

So, once more young Burroughs left home, 
bound for a certain town in New Jersey. His 
journey was a wonderful experience — more so 
even than his first ride in a stagecoach, because 
a part of it was made in a railroad train. As 



174 REAL AMERICANS 

he seated himself in the car, he was much ex- 
cited at the idea of the swiftness with which 
trains move. 

Much to his disappointment he did not 
secure a school in New Jersey; but in the 
hours he spent in New York on the way home 
he visited some second-hand bookstores. Such 
delight as he had wandering about among the 
books and buying as many as his thin pocket- 
book allowed! Among them was "Studies in 
Nature," which John felt would help him in 
finding out more about the things he had loved 
and watched in his outdoor life at home, — the 
birds and the bees; the flowers and the in- 
sects. 

When he reached home with his books, he 
had not a penny left, and his stomach was as 
empty as his purse. 

He stayed on the farm till autumn, helping 
his father and spending every spare minute in 
reading. Then, in September, he went again 
to Tongore to teach. During this second stay 
there he was very happy in his school work 
and in the companionship of a young girl — 
Ursula North was her name — with whom he 
had become acquainted. 



JOHN BURROUGHS 175 

When the following April arrived John 
bade a final good-by to his Tongore school, but 
not to Ursula North whom he had grown to 
love. He was not to see her again for some 
time, however, because he was going to spend 
the spring months at the place he had dreamed 
of attending when a boy, — the academy at 
Cooperstown. 

At Cooperstown he went on with the studies 
he had followed at the Hedding Literary 
Institute and excelled all his classmates in 
composition. He enjoyed sports with his 
schoolmates, as well as his books, and had 
great fun playing baseball and rowing on the 
lake. 

With the coming of summer the young man 
went home once more to take part in the farm 
work. Not for long, however, because when 
autumn arrived he started on what seemed to 
him a long journey. He was bound for 
Buffalo Grove in Illinois, where he had 
secured a position to teach school. It was his 
first adventure far from home and he was ex- 
cited over the thought of the new sights Dame 
Nature would be sure to reveal to him there. 
At the same time there was a picture in his 



176 REAL AMERICANS 

mind to which he turned often. It was the 
picture of the young girl, Ursula North. 

After hearing this, you will not be surprised 
to learn that in the following spring he and 
Ursula North were married. He was only 
twenty years old — scarcely more than a boy — 
when the wedding took place. 

Years of teaching, now in one place, now in 
another, followed for the young man, with 
many of the summer vacations spent in work 
on his father's farm. 

When only nineteen years old, he had a 
composition of his own printed in a news- 
paper. And not long after that he began to 
write articles for the Press, a New York news- 
paper. Some of these were lively and cheer- 
giving. All of them showed that the writer 
was a man who observed much and who 
thought things out for himself. 

At last, when Mr. Burroughs was about 
twenty-six years old, what he looked upon as 
a great event occurred in his life while he was 
teaching school near West Point. 

Ever since that Sunday long before, when 
he saw the strange bird in the Deacon Woods, 
he had often said to himself, "I shall know 



JOHN BURROUGHS 177 

the birds some day." And now that time had 
come with the discovery of a book in the West 
Point Library. It had been written by the 
great nature lover, Audubon. It told the 
young reader much that he was eager to know. 
He has since said of the book, "It was like 
bringing together fire and powder." 

You can imagine, therefore, with what de- 
light he pored over the pages, and what 
pleasure he found afterwards in wandering 
about the country around him in search of bird 
adventures. Every walk, every picnic, every 
fishing trip had an added charm for him now, 
because at any moment some songster he had 
never seen before, but had read about, might 
appear. He seemed to be in a new world filled 
with joy and wonder. He began shortly to 
write, "The Return of the Birds," which has 
since been read and loved by countless people. 

In the meanwhile the Great Civil War was 
raging, and the hearts of Americans, both 
North and South, were deeply stirred. 

John Burroughs, the gentle schoolteacher 
and nature lover, felt the general excitement. 
His dear old Grandfather Kelly had fought in 
the Revolution. Why should not he follow in 



178 REAL AMERICANS 

his steps and fight for the freedom of the 
slaves? Some such thought pressed its way 
into his mind and would not be driven out. 

"I will not stay up here in West Point, but 
will go to Washington, where helpers in the 
war are needed," he decided. 

Leaving his school, he made his way to the 
Capital. But instead of enlisting in the army, 
as he had probably intended, he walked into 
the Treasury Department and asked for a job 
there. 

"What recommendation can you give?" he 
was asked, because only a man of fine char- 
acter would be considered a safe guardian of 
the riches of the country. 

Young Burroughs promptly showed some 
poems he had written, which revealed his love 
of trees and flowers and other beautiful things 
in the world. It was enough. Only an honest, 
pure-minded man could write verses like those, 
it was clear; and young Mr. Burroughs was 
promptly set to work guarding the treasury 
vaults within whose strong walls many mill- 
ions of dollars were stored. There, day after 
day, he sat at his little desk, often attacked by 
homesickness. 



JOHN BURROUGHS 179 

"How much," he doubtless thought, "I 
have given up for the sake of this work. In 
my own lovely State of New York the birds 
are singing gaily, the streams flow as merrily 
as ever, flowers blossom in countless numbers 
in valleys and on the hillsides. And here about 
me through long days are only gloomy walls." 

But there were beautiful places near the 
big city — Piney Ridge and Rock Creek among 
them — as he soon discovered in long walks 
taken on Sundays and holidays. There were 
new birds and flowers for him to become ac- 
quainted with, and there were stories to hear 
from the country children of the opossums 
and snakes and foxes that wandered that way. 

What joy came to him in those days espe- 
cially from the bird friends he made I He 
since wrote, "My knowledge of them has 
come to me through the pores of my skin, 
through the air I have breathed, through the 
soles of my feet, through the twinkle of the 
leaves and the glint of the waters." 

He wanted to share this knowledge with 
other people. So his pen was soon busy writ- 
ing a book called "Wake Robin." He gave it 
that name with the thought of a tiny wild 



180 REAL AMERICANS 



flower he knew, which appears in the early 
spring when the birds are returning. Fortu- 
nately for the young government clerk, he was 
able to do some of his writing at his little desk 
in front of the gloomy treasury vaults. So, 
even there, he could live in imagination in the 
bright outdoors, sometimes among the hills 
and fields around Washington; sometimes at 
his boyhood home in Roxbury with sheep and 
cattle, birds and bees for company. 

When "Wake Robin" was published its 
readers were filled with delight. They said : 
"The writer of this book does not tell dry un- 
interesting facts that we would forget in a few 
days. He makes us feel at home with Mother 
Nature and her children. He fills our hearts 
with love. He fills our minds with beauty." 
The young man quickly became famous, and 
when still other books of his appeared on 
"Birds and Poets" and "Winter Sunshine," 
people throughout the country began to speak 
of him as a remarkable person. 

"He brings us close to God's wonders," they 
declared. "He is a seer." 

What did they mean by calling John Bur- 
roughs a seer? Just this: he not only dis- 



JOHN BURROUGHS 181 

covered beauties which other people passed 
by with open eyes, but he looked deep down 
into the heart of things, as only a seer can do, 
and understood what he found there. 

During the years spent in Washington Mr. 
Burroughs had many happy hours with his 
wife in their cosy home, as well as in his out- 
door tramps. To the home came loved friends 
with whom he could talk freely about his 
favorite books and birds and flowers. 

One of these friends — probably the dearest 
— was Walt Whitman, the "Good gray poet," 
as he is often called. These two men, because 
of their common love for all people and all 
creatures, had great pleasure in each other's 
company. Whitman ate many a cheery meal 
at the home of the treasury clerk, and many a 
holiday he spent taking long tramps with him 
through fields and woods. 

Mr. Burroughs felt that he gained such 
riches from Walt Whitman's companionship 
and writings, that after the happy years spent 
with him in Washington he wrote "The 
Flight of the Eagle," in noble praise of him. 
He also wrote several books about Whitman 
which have done much to help people un- 



182 REAL AMERICANS 

derstand better his message of brotherhood. 

When the ten years at Washington ended, 
Mr. Burroughs went back to his own State, 
New York, to become a national bank ex- 
aminer. With his new duties there was still 
time to spend many happy days with Mother 
Nature, and also to write about his adven- 
tures. 

He was very happy in his work and in the 
company of his dear wife, yet for many years 
he lacked one great blessing, — there was no 
little child in the home to fill it with laughter. 
So, when at last in the year 1879 ms son Julian 
was born, there was great joy in the house- 
hold. 

Moreover, when Julian had grown to be 
a lively boy of six years, a wonderful dream of 
his father's came true: he built a house of his 
very own. Not in the midst of a big noisy 
city, however! Indeed not, but in a little vil- 
lage of a hundred or more houses on the shore 
of the Hudson River. 

The new home, which Mr. Burroughs 
called Riverby, was almost hidden from the 
road by evergreen trees and was very cosy and 
comfortable. Happy, quiet years passed there 



JOHN BURROUGHS 183 

for its master, though from time to time he 
had to leave it to attend to his duties as a bank 
examiner. 

For the most part, however, life seemed a 
good deal like a picnic to him. He told his 
son stories of his boyhood. He took long 
walks and made discoveries. He worked in 
his vineyard, where he raised delicious grapes. 
He pruned the trees in his orchard. He enter- 
tained friends, some of them the greatest 
people in the land. Best of all, so far as the 
rest of the world was concerned, he passed 
busy hours in a little study he had built near 
the house. 

Of course you can guess why these hours 
were so valuable: because of what he wrote 
there, opening, as he did, a door upon Mother 
Nature's priceless riches for thousands — yes, 
millions — of his readers. 

Now, though the master o£ Riverby could 
retire at will to his little study, so many people 
sought him out with the desire to look upon 
the beautiful face and hear the kindly voice of 
the famous writer, that after a while he felt 
the need of a still more quiet place to which 
he could withdraw when he wished. For this 



1 84 REAL AMERICANS 

reason, largely, he decided to build a second 
home farther back in the country. 

As it happened, he and Walt Whitman, 
who sometimes came to visit him, had dis- 
covered in their tramps together the very 
place suited to his needs. It was among the 
woods about two miles back from the Hudson. 
There was a hollow there, with steep, rocky 
ledges about it. Mosses and vines clung to 
the sides of the ledges. 

Here, then, Mr. Burroughs built a retreat 
for himself, a rough two-story shack of slabs 
covered with bark. It was an odd-looking 
house, yet really beautiful. With its rustic 
doors and steps it seemed a part of the outdoor 
world. To this lovely place Mr. Burroughs 
could go at will to listen to what Mother 
Nature had to say to him, and to write with 
his old-fashioned goose-quill pen at the table 
inside. 

Choice friends were sometimes invited to 
break bread with him at Slabsides, this wilder- 
ness home. Among them were President 
Roosevelt and his wife, who gladly tramped 
over the rough, stony pathway through the 
woods to enjoy his hospitality. 



JOHN BURROUGHS 185 

Such feasts as he prepared and served his 
guests at Slabsides! Surely no one could broil 
chickens over the glowing coals of a fireplace 
better than he did. Nor could wild straw- 
berries have a richer flavor than those which 
the great writer picked and set before his 
friends in his bark-covered home. 

As the years passed by, Mr. Burroughs gave 
up his duties as a bank examiner and was free 
to take long journeys to other parts of the 
world whenever he wished. He had already 
visited England and France, but he was not 
yet acquainted with all parts of his own 
country. So he took pleasure in joining an 
expedition to Alaska where many plants and 
animals found there were new and strange to 
him. He traveled through the South and the 
West, and stayed for a while with John Muir, 
another noted nature lover, among the noble 
Yosemite Mountains. He made a delightful 
trip to Yellowstone Park with Theodore 
Roosevelt, then President of the United States. 

In Yellowstone Park, he coasted on skiis 
over snow fields, and had more than one 
laugh-provoking tumble into deep drifts. He 
rode horseback for the first time in over fifty 



1 86 REAL AMERICANS 

years. He listened to the notes of strange 
birds and imitated their calls to each other. 
He visited the haunts of wild animals, moun- 
tain sheep and elks, bears and deer, and a 
"singing" gopher, as he called it, because its 
sad chirrups sounded like bird notes. 

Among other sights interesting to him were 
the famous boiling springs, and the Stygian 
Caves filled with such poisonous air that the 
ground around was strewn with the feathers 
of birds which had breathed the air inside 
and instantly died. 

Many wonders Mr. Burroughs looked 
upon, enjoying what he saw. And many de- 
lightful talks he had with his friend, President 
Roosevelt. Yet he was glad, when the trip 
was over, to return to his quiet home in the 
East, with its orchards and grapevines. 

In fact, in all the great nature lover's sight- 
seeing, no place had such charms for him 
as the one he first knew and loved, — the farm 
at Roxbury. Even Riverby, with its outlook 
on the Hudson, and Slabsides hidden among 
the noble boulders were never quite so dear 
to him as the slopes of Old Clump and the 
shores of the lovely Pepacton. 




' opyright Underwood <fe Underwood, X. V 
JOHN BURROUGHS LISTENING TO HIS FEATHERED FRIENDS 



JOHN BURROUGHS 187 

It was quite natural, therefore, that in 
course of time Mr. Burroughs should make 
a third home for himself at Roxbury by 
building over an old barn about half a mile 
from the house where he was born. And 
because of the little creatures which lived 
near by in the burrows they dug out of the 
ground, he called this new home "Woodchuck 
Lodge." 

Mr. Burroughs built a rustic porch on the 
lodge and himself made the furniture used 
inside, choosing bark-covered wood for most 
of it. For his study he chose a corner of an 
old barn which stood on the hill behind the 
house. As for the desk he set up there, you 
could never guess what he used. It was an 
old chicken coop, one side of which was 
covered with boards. Over its top and sides 
he stretched heavy, brown paper. 

No doubt, when he had finished his work, 
he looked at it with twinkling eyes and said 
to himself, "Aha I at this rough, homemade 
desk I will spend many happy hours." 

That is exactly what happened. There, in 
front of the old chicken coop, friends of Mr. 



188 REAL AMERICANS 

Burroughs sometimes hunted him out, to find 
him as light-hearted as a boy. 

He wrote somewhat differently in these 
later years from what he had written before, 
because he was now most interested in the 
whys of all he had seen in this wonderful 
world. In other words, he was going deeper 
in thought into the heart of things, and for 
this reason many people think his last books 
are his best. 

But now let us go back to Woodchuck 
Lodge and learn what he did besides sit at his 
desk and write. He worked in his celery 
patch; he cut wood; he picked berries. He 
also took long rambles, often with boys and 
girls for company, through the sugar bush 
where the maples were tapped each year of 
his boyhood, or in the apple orchard which 
used to furnish him and his brothers and 
sisters with delicious fruit. 

Best of all perhaps, to his child companions, 
was a climb with their dear old friend up the 
side of Old Clump. Most delightful tales he 
told them at such times of the nights he had 
camped there in the long ago, with the stars 
peeping down at him between the tree tops. 



JOHN BURROUGHS 189 



Vividly he described the beds he made of 
hemlock boughs, and his falling asleep to the 
song of birds, and the way the little wild folks 
of the woods ran off to their homes in the 
growing darkness. And he would tell of the 
fun of being wakened in the early morning by 
chattering squirrels or the calls of robins. 

To have wide-awake children about him; 
to point out to their curious, eager eyes the 
nest of some strange bird; to follow wild bees 
with them, as the busy little creatures flew 
towards some secret store of honey; to gather 
the ripened nuts on a glorious autumn day in 
their company, with a faithful dog beside him 
— these were ever a joy to the man who had 
lived over eighty years, yet kept the child- 
heart always. 

As time passed by, and his body grew old, 
Mr. Burroughs turned his eyes longingly to- 
wards Southern California. When his own 
home was held in the clutches of Jack Frost, 
he was sure of a welcome from the birds and 
flowers and balmy breezes of California. So 
it came about that he spent several winters in 
that warm southland. There he was at last 
overtaken by serious illness, and on his way 



190 REAL AMERICANS 

back to his home "Oom John" (our John), as 
Theodore Roosevelt had tenderly called him, 
breathed his last. 

His body was carried across the country to 
Roxbury; and on April 3, 1921, which would 
have been his eighty-fourth birthday, it was 
laid to rest beside "Boyhood Rock" near 
Woodchuck Lodge. From beneath that rock 
a spring of bubbling water used to sing to 
him in his childhood, as he sat above it looking 
at the beautiful world around him with eager, 
wondering eyes. 

Honorary degrees were bestowed upon 
John Burroughs by various colleges; artists 
and sculptors took pride in picturing and 
modeling his likeness; clubs formed for study- 
ing nature throughout the United States have 
taken his name. 

But why, you may still wonder, was he a 
great man. He did not discover a new conti- 
nent, like Columbus. He did not give the 
world wonderful inventions, like his friend, 
Thomas Edison. He never turned his 
thoughts towards new uses of electricity, like 
Marconi. 

Quite true. Yet all his life he was discover- 



JOHN BURROUGHS 191 

ing in the world around him priceless 
treasures which, through his writings, have 
made countless lives richer and sweeter. 
Surely nothing greater than this could any 
one accomplish. 



MARK TWAIN 

The Giver of Mirth 

VERY likely you have read the adventures 
of that lively lad, Tom Sawyer, and laughed 
over them till your sides ached. 

It is also quite likely that you think of 
the writer as Mark Twain. You may not 
know that his real name was Samuel Lang- 
horne Clemens, and that he was never called 
by any other till after he became a man. 

Later on you shall learn how he got his 
odd nickname; at present, however, let us con- 
sider his boyhood in the village of Florida, 
Missouri. 

He was born on a chilly November day of 
the year 1835. At first he was such a delicate, 
sickly little fellow that when the neighbors 
looked at his frail body, they must have 
thought, "That child will probably not live 
long." But their expectations were not real- 
ized. 

Before Sam was born, his father had had 

192 



MARK TWAIN 193 

one business misfortune after another; and 
only a short while before, he had moved with 
his family to Florida, hoping for better suc- 
cess there. 

How could he expect this in a village of 
twenty-one houses, with the wilderness all 
about it? To the hopeful eyes of Mr. Clemens 
there was a fine chance ahead of him because 
of Florida's fine position. It stood on the 
bank of a stream which flowed down to the 
great Mississippi. 

"Before very long," the man said to himself, 
"the channel of this stream will be deepened. 
Then ships loaded with produce can sail from 
our village away down to the city of St. Louis 
on the Mississippi, which has a big trade with 
the country south of it. O, yes! there is much 
to hope for by living in Florida." 

While he still believed this, Sam was born. 
The little boy was exceedingly delicate for 
several years. Nevertheless, by the time he 
was old enough to toddle about, he had grown 
strong enough to share in the play of his 
brothers and sisters. With them he picked 
berries and gathered nuts and had many an 
adventure in the country about him. He 



i 9 4 REAL AMERICANS 

never needed to be lonely because, besides his 
white playmates, there were always black 
"pickaninnies" close at hand to join in his 
sports. 

Then, too, there was "Uncle Ned," the 
black slave who did odd work about the place, 
and Jennie, who helped Sam's mother in the 
house. The little boy was very fond of these 
two, and turned constantly to them for help 
and entertainment. 

Uncle Ned was the most delightful story- 
teller! He could fairly make one's hair stand 
on end at the tales he told. For little Sam 
there could be no greater pleasure than to sit 
in front of the big fireplace on winter evenings 
with Uncle Ned and Jennie, and listen to their 
stories. 

"Once 'pon a time," so the stories always 
started. Then Sam would begin to shiver at 
the thought of what delightful horrors would 
shortly be described. 

The little boy never forgot some of the tales 
he and his brothers and sisters heard those 
winter evenings. One of his favorites was that 
of the "Golden Arm." 

"Once 'pon a time," so it ran, "there was a 



MARK TWAIN 195 

man, an' he had a wife, and she had a' arm of 
pure gold ; and she died, an' they buried her in 
the graveyard ; an' one night her husband went 
an' dug her up and cut off her golden arm an' 
tuck it home; and one night a ghost all in 
white come to him; an' she was his wife; 
an' she says: 'Whar's my golden arm? 
Whar's my golden arm? Whar's my golden 
arm?' " 

So the story went on till the end was neared, 
when Uncle Ned would look fiercely at one 
after another of his young listeners, with his 
hands drawn in front of him, and fingers bent 
like claws. Then, suddenly leaning forward 
and seizing the shoulders of one of the chil- 
dren, he would give the ghost's anwer in a 
low and awful voice, "You've got it." After 
that, so he declared, she tore her husband all 
to pieces. 

On such stories as this Little Sam's mind 
was fed. No wonder, then, that he fancied 
hobgoblins dwelt in the darkness. No won- 
der, either, that he repeated charms his Negro 
friends taught him would keep evil spirits 
away. Nor was it strange that while he loved 
Jennie and Uncle Ned, he had a sort of awe 



196 REAL AMERICANS 

of them because of their power in story-telling 
and their knowledge of charms and spells. 

Sam, together with his brothers and sisters, 
had one great fear. It was lest runaway slaves 
appear in Florida. The children were taught 
that it was sinful for slaves to run away from 
their masters and that they deserved terrible 
punishment for doing so. Never could Sam 
forget a certain day when one of these run- 
aways was brought into the village by six men 
who bound his arms and legs with ropes, 
while he lay helplessly groaning. 

Even in Sam's own home he sometimes saw 
sad happenings, because his parents believed 
it right to punish their slaves. For instance, 
Jennie was now and then saucy to her mistress. 

"The girl must be whipped," decided Sam's 
mother one day. She started to give the whip- 
ping, but Jennie was too strong for her and 
snatched the whip out of her hands. At such 
daring, Mr. Clemens was hurriedly sent for. 
As soon as he arrived he seized Jennie, tied her 
wrists tightly together with rope so she could 
not resist, and proceeded to whip her across 
the shoulders with a cowhide. 

Little Sam must have been greatly excited 



MARK TWAIN 197 

over Jennie's suffering. If he had been older, 
he might have wondered that his dear mother, 
who was so tender-hearted that she would not 
kill a fly, could bear to have her work girl, 
though only a black slave, punished so se- 
verely. 

The little boy was a good deal like his 
mother in many ways. His skin was fair like 
hers; his hands and feet were small; and his 
head was covered with soft, thick hair. Like 
her, too, he was ready to see the funny side 
of things, and as he grew older, he told 
amusing stories in the same quiet, droll man- 
ner, with never a sign that he knew he was 
witty. 

Some of his happiest days were spent on 
the farm of his Uncle John Quarles. In the 
first place, his uncle was always bubbling 
over with fun and could send the child, who 
always delighted to be with him, into gales of 
laughter over his stories. 

If Sam's mother sent him to the farm for 
eggs, the jolly man was very likely to say: 
"Your hens won't lay, eh? Tell your maw 
to feed 'em parched corn and drive 'em up 
hill." 



198 REAL AMERICANS 

Of course, these words were enough to 
bring a grin of delight to the face of any 
young visitor. 

And then John Quarles was such a wonder- 
ful mimic that it was fun to watch his every 
motion. It was impossible for a small boy 
to have a kinder or more lovable uncle, even 
though he was happy-go-lucky in his business 
ways. At least, so Sam thought. 

When the little boy was less than four years 
old, he met with his first big sorrow in the 
death of his sister Margaret, a beautiful girl 
of nine years. 

Mr. Clemens was having troubles enough 
already. He had started in business for him- 
self and had not succeeded. One hope was 
with him still, however, — that rich lands he 
had bought years before would yet bring a 
fortune to his family. 

"The time will surely come," he said to 
himself, "when my children will be made rich 
by those lands, even though I shall not." 

"I will not stay here in Florida any longer," 
he decided at last. "I will move to some 
larger place where there will be better 
chances for trading." 



MARK TWAIN 199 



Having made up his mind, he quickly 
settled up what business he had and started 
out with his family for the town of Hannibal, 
Missouri, on the banks of the Mississippi 
River. Their household belongings were car- 
ried with them in a big heavy wagon. Along 
rough country roads they jogged, the children 
enjoying the ride because they were seeing 
new sights, and dreaming of the wonders to 
come when they should reach their destination. 

Hannibal must have seemed a wonderful 
place to little Sam when he got his first good 
view of it! What jolly times he could have 
there! What delightful adventures on the 
river, where he could see all sorts of craft sail- 
ing by, — rafts and small boats; and more in- 
teresting still to his country eyes, strange 
big steamers whose engines puffed and snorted, 
and whose wheels tossed up white foam above 
the dark waters. 

Furthermore, mystery lay in the forests the 
lad could see lining the farther shore of the 
river. Wild animals dwelt there — bears and 
wildcats and opossums, and other creatures 
whose names Sam did not know. Savages 
prowled there, too, he was told, — fierce red 



200 REAL AMERICANS 

men who carried tomahawks and scalping 
knives and knew no pity for their enemies. 

Little Sam saw many different kinds of 
people in the streets of Hannibal. Some were 
not at all like the country folks he had known 
in Florida, who dressed for the most part in 
homemade garments. Why, the men of high 
standing in Hannibal actually wore shirts 
with ruffles up and down the fronts, stiff tall 
"store" hats, and the most elegant swallowtail 
coats. 

Though Mr. Clemens belonged rightfully 
among the better class of people in the town, 
he was too poor to mingle much with them. 
So, while there were many in the place who 
lived in style and had numbers of black slaves 
to wait upon them in large and comfortable 
homes, Sam's family had to be contented to 
settle themselves in a few rooms while his 
father opened a small shop elsewhere with his 
fifteen-year-old son Orion for his assistant. 

Poor Orion! He was a dreamy sort of lad 
and he hated business. Little Sam loved him 
deeply, but he was scarcely old enough to feel 
sorry that his big brother was obliged to stay 
indoors selling goods instead of wandering 



MARK TWAIN 201 

about the town or seeking adventures on the 
river as Sam himself liked to do so well. 

In fact, the small boy was continually run- 
ning away from home. He was not old 
enough to go to school where his brother 
Benjamin and sister Pamela now went. His 
mother had the baby, little Henry, to watch, 
so there were many chances for Sam to steal 
away from the house and explore the wonder- 
ful world around him. 

His careworn mother never felt sure he was 
safe when he was out of her sight in the day- 
time. She could not even stop worrying about 
him at night after she had tucked him into bed, 
because he sometimes walked in his sleep, and 
she feared he might come to harm while doing 
so. Many a time she roused from her own rest 
to find he had left the warm shelter of his 
coverlets and was wandering about the cold 
house, chilled through, yet sound asleep. 

During those early years of Sam's life he 
was often so ill that the doctor was required. 
He must have thought illness an interest- 
ing event, or perhaps the extra attention and 
special dishes a sick child was bound to re- 
ceive pleased him. At any rate, he actually 



202 REAL AMERICANS 

tried to take the measles which had been 
attacking many of the children in the town. 

"How can I catch the measles?" considered 
little Sam. 

He soon found the way by sneaking into 
the home of a child he knew who had this 
disease. Into the boy's room he crept when 
no one was watching and jumped into bed 
with the sick child. Soon afterwards his own 
body was covered with itchy red spots, and 
the doctor said that he had the measles. His 
wish had been fulfilled. 

Such a sick boy he soon became! Before 
many days his family looked at him with sad- 
ness, as there seemed small hope of his getting 
well, and the one thought was, "Our dear little 
Sammie must die." 

And Sammie? How did he feel, as he lay 
there weak and suffering? When he looked 
up at the tear-filled eyes bent upon him, he 
was actually delighted at being the object of 
such tender interest. It was worth dying for, 
it seemed to him. To the surprise of all, 
however, he recovered and was soon up and 
about in search of fresh mischief. Yet he was 
still so delicate that his mother decided 



MARK TWAIN 203 

nothing would restore his strength so quickly 
as a summer on his Uncle John's beautiful 
farm near Florida. 

It was furthermore decided that the whole 
Clemens family should go there also. Ac- 
cordingly, one pleasant morning in June, the 
mother and Jennie, with the three oldest 
children and the baby, started out in a wagon 
on the long day's ride to Florida. Mr. 
Clemens was to follow with Sammie the next 
day. Something happened, however, to pre- 
vent the plan from being carried out entirely, 
something which seemed very sad to Sammie 
at the time, but which he could laugh about in 
after years. He got left behind! You shall 
hear how this came about. 

When Mr. Clemens rose early next morn- 
ing, the little son left in his charge was still 
fast asleep, so the father went out to saddle 
the horse and prepare for the start. When 
all was ready, it was still quiet within and 
without the house because Sammie had not 
roused from the kingdom of dreams to remind 
his father of his charge. 

Absent-mindedly, the dreamy man locked 
the house door, sprang to his horse's back, and 



204 REAL AMERICANS 

rode away in the direction of Florida. And 
surprising as it may seem, he traveled all the 
long miles to John Quarles's farm without re- 
membering the small boy he had left behind, 
locked up in the lonely house. 

When at last Mr. Clemens appeared at the 
farm alone, the boy's mother cried out at 
once, "Where is Sam?" 

The father, brought suddenly to his senses, 
had to explain why he was alone. And you 
may well believe, as soon as his story had 
been told, that some one was sent back in haste 
to fetch the deserted child. 

When once he arrived at the farm, loving 
relatives were waiting to pet him to his heart's 
content. And in the weeks that followed each 
day was filled with new delights. There 
were rides in the swings behind the house with 
his small cousin, Tabitha, and with the black 
slave, Mary, to push the children. There 
were frolics in the near-by woods with squir- 
rels frisking at his feet. There were rides 
on the tops of the loads filling the big wagons 
drawn by oxen. 

Sometimes, too, the michievous little fellow 
used to spring upon the threshing machine 



MARK TWAIN 205 

when the Negro driver was not looking, and 
ride for a while as it moved along through the 
grain. It was all the greater sport because 
of the danger. 

Oh 1 and what fun it was to dash in among 
the cows as they were driven home at sunset 
for the milking, and set them running in all 
directions, with their bells jingling merrily. 

How glorious was the harvest time when 
Sammie helped to gather the rosy-checked 
apples and the luscious peaches! What de- 
light to wander through the watermelon 
patch and come upon a big, ripe melon ready 
for the picking, and then feast upon it till 
his stomach could hold no more! Once, alas, 
Sammie ate so much of a green watermelon 
that he became very ill. He was in such pain 
that some of the household feared the boy 
could not live. 

His mother, however, did not seem 
troubled, and said calmly: "Sammie will pull 
through. He wasn't born to die yet." And 
he wasn't. 

During the delightful summer on the farm 
the small boy grew so strong that when he 
returned home in the autumn his mother de- 



206 REAL AMERICANS 

cided to send him to school. Sam's first day in 
a schoolroom showed his teacher that she had 
a very lively boy to deal with. 

He, for his part, discovered that there were 
rules which he could not break without pun- 
ishment following. Before the first day ended 
his teacher's patience was used up, and she 
startled her new pupil by saying, "Go outdoors 
and get me a big stick." 

Now, since there was no doubt what use 
was to be made of the stick, five-year-old Sam 
hunted about quite a while, considering what 
sort of one to select. A big stick looked 
dangerous in his eyes. It might hurt too 
much. While he was searching he caught 
sight of some shavings, lying on the ground in 
front of a cooper's shop. A shaving was the 
only thing, of course! Picking one up, he 
carried it into the school house and soberly 
presented it to his teacher. Did she laugh, 
and forthwith forgive the small offender? In- 
deed not. Instead she said severely, "Samuel 
Langhorn Clemens, I am ashamed of you." 
Then she turned to another pupil and directed 
him to go out and get a switch. It was quickly 
brought, and Sammie received such a thrash- 



MARK TWAIN 207 

ing that he hated school then and ever after- 
wards. 

Why shouldn't he have done so, with a cross 
teacher who made his back sore from frequent 
whippings, and with the wonderful fields and 
woods and river outside ever calling to him? 
Notwithstanding his love of mischief he 
must have got his lessons pretty well, for he 
quickly learned to read and became noted for 
his ability in spelling. 

During Sam's first school days his father 
was so poor that he was obliged to get money 
by selling his slave girl Jennie. 

As months went by, however, fortune began 
to smile upon the family again, and Mr. 
Clemens was able to build a new and more 
comfortable home. 

By this time Sam was a healthy, sturdy boy, 
quite able to take care of himself, as he 
thought, hating restraint with his whole heart 
and getting into mischief continually. 

He wandered about the town a good deal, 
and his curious eyes looked upon some terrible 
happenings, because Hannibal was on the very 
borderland of the vast, wild West. Once the 
lad saw a man killed in broad daylight by the 



208 REAL AMERICANS 

shot of an enemy. At another time — it was on 
a dark night in the midst of a thunder storm — 
he and one of his boy chums stood in hiding, 
watching a man maddened with drink strive 
to enter the home of a widow and her daughter 
to do them harm; and still the two boys 
watched as the widow shot at the man and 
killed him. 

Such sights as these gave the nervous, ex- 
citable Sam bad dreams from which he would 
wake full of terror. 

For the most part, however, his boyhood 
days were happy ones. There were picnics; 
there were ferryboat rides on the wonderful 
river; there were fishing trips with his chums, 
and adventures in the woods. There was play 
in the big cave where Sam and his chosen 
playmates pretended that they were Indians, 
or bandits, or pirates. 

A walk of three miles to reach the cave was 
quickly forgotten when the boys once found 
themselves inside its dark halls. There was 
no other place where Sam and his young 
followers — he was always the leader — lived 
in imagination through such marvelous ad- 
ventures. 



MARK TWAIN 209 

Sam learned to swim when he was quite 
young, but he came near drowning more than 
once before he mastered the art. Once a slave 
girl saved his life. At another time a slave 
man dragged him out of the water when he 
was just about to sink. But these accidents, 
and even the sight of two drowned playmates 
did not make him lose courage, and in course 
of time he became noted for his ability to 
move with ease through the waters of Bear 
Creek. 

Sam was looked upon by his playmates as 
a wonderful story-teller; and though he spoke 
in a slow, drawling way, this did not prevent 
them from dropping whatever they were 
doing to gather about him and listen to the 
thrilling tales he spun for them. 

So busy did he keep inventing imaginary 
adventures that the rest of his family were 
never sure when he was telling what had 
actually happened and when he was "making 
up." No matter how much he meant to tell 
the truth, his imagination was continually 
running away with him. 

He dearly loved the big river, beside which 
he dreamed of wonderful happenings for 



210 REAL AMERICANS 

those who were free to sail upon it. He 
wished so much that he were himself free. 
Then what adventures he could have! Some- 
times, when the longing became very strong, 
he would get into some boat drawn up along 
the shore and row out upon the water, alone 
and unafraid, though he was such a tiny little 
fellow when he first attempted it that he could 
scarcely lift the oars. 

There were certain boys Sam liked to go 
with because they were allowed to do as they 
pleased. Bad boys they were called by some 
of the townspeople because of their wild, mis- 
chievous ways. 

One of them, especially, Ben Blankenship, 
was a hero in Sam's eyes. Ben did not have 
to work and he was not sent to school. He 
knew a great deal about fishing, and trapping 
wild creatures, and other things in which Sam 
was interested. 

"You must not play with Ben Blanken- 
ship," Mr. and Mrs. Clemens told their lively 
son. 

But he did not always obey their command, 
and whenever he had a chance he would steal 
away for fresh mischief with Ben and some 



MARK TWAIN 211 



other boys who made up his band of prank 
lovers. 

Sam had still other chums who were well- 
behaved and whom his parents liked. He also 
had girl friends whom he adored. And with 
all his liking for mischief, he had a kind heart 
for dumb creatures and a love for trees and 
flowers and all other beautiful things. 

Sam's sad-eyed father died before the boy 
was eleven years old, and he was seized with 
sorrow. The thought of every wrong deed 
he had ever done came rushing into his mind. 
How many a time he had worried his father 
by his mischievous pranks! How many a 
time he had disobeyed! His mother saw her 
little son was suffering and tried to comfort 
him. She ended by asking him to promise 
one thing. 

With tear-filled eyes he broke in, "I will 
promise anything if you won't make me go to 
school. Anything!" 

His mother answered: "No, Sammie. You 
need not go to school any more. Only promise 
me to be a better boy. Promise not to break 
my heart." 



2i2 REAL AMERICANS 

He promised. "I will try to be like my 
dear, good father," he told her. 

He meant what he said, and having a strong 
sense of honor, he strove thereafter to carry 
out his promise. 

After her husband's death Mrs. Clemens 
had to consider how her family was to be 
supported. Orion was already working as a 
printer in St. Louis and able to send his 
mother three dollars every week out of his 
small earnings. Pamela, who had learned to 
be a good piano player, was able to help by 
giving music lessons. But more money still 
was needed. So Mrs. Clemens now proposed 
to Sam that, young as he was, he should sup- 
port himself by becoming a printer's appren- 
tice. Such a position shortly fell in his way 
and he started to learn the trade of a printer. 
He was to receive board and clothing in re- 
turn for his work. 

He showed himself very helpful to his 
employer. He became quick in setting type, 
running the press, and other duties that fell 
to his lot. While he worked he was learning 
a good deal about composition and punctua- 
tion. He was getting considerable fun out 



MARK TWAIN 213 

of life at the same time, because he was free 
to do whatever he pleased in the late after- 
noon and evening. Therefore, he was still 
able to visit his loved cave and take short 
river trips with his boy friends. Besides, he 
often attended parties where the boys and girls 
who were present played forfeits and other 
such games. 

One day something happened which young 
Sam afterwards called the turning point in his 
life. He picked up a paper on the street. Not 
a very important matter, you may think. But 
it was what was printed there which counted. 
It was a leaf from a book telling the story of 
the famous heroine, Joan of Arc. 

Sam had not read very many books at that 
time, and he knew nothing about history. As 
he read the page he had picked up, he became 
deeply interested in the life of the brave Joan 
of Arc. His heart was filled with sorrow for 
her sufferings. He wished to learn more 
about her. From that day he read every book 
possible about the Maid of Orleans and the 
wars of France. Then he went on to read still 
other books of history because they told of the 



214 REAL AMERICANS 

lives of many different people, — their suffer- 
ings, their struggles, their victories. 

He now woke up to his own ignorance 
along other lines. He did not know any 
language except his own. He said to himself, 
"I must learn French first of all," and he 
started at once upon the study. 

Sam had finished two busy, happy years as 
a printer's apprentice when Orion came home 
from St. Louis and started a newspaper in 
Hannibal. 

"Will you work for me on my paper?" he 
asked Sam. The fifteen-year-old lad ac- 
cepted the position, and was soon busily doing 
his full share to make the Hannibal Journal 
have a good circulation. His brother, anxious 
for success, was a somewhat hard taskmaster. 
Sam was faithful, even though he had far less 
time for fun than ever before. Even at the 
printing office he showed his lively, merry 
nature, his quickness of wit, and his readi- 
ness to spring a joke whenever he saw a 
chance. 

After several years it was pretty clear that 
Orion's newspaper was becoming a failure. 
In his disappointment the young man was 



MARK TWAIN 215 

sometimes unjust to Sam and treated him un- 
kindly. He had never been able to pay him 
much for his help and Sam could not save a 
penny. One day the lad got courage to ask 
Orion for enough money to buy a second-hand 
gun. At this Orion flew into a temper and 
accused his brother of being extravagant. 

It was the "straw that broke the camel's 
back." Sam, feeling that he could bear no 
more, went to his mother and said, "I am 
going to St. Louis where I am sure of a job." 

In his heart he meant to travel still farther 
before he returned home, but he did not wish 
to fret his mother by telling her so. 

When he was ready to start, the loving 
woman, fearful of the temptations her lively 
son might meet in the big world, held out a 
Testament and asked him to take hold of the 
other end of it and make her a promise. 

"I want you to repeat after me these words," 
she said, "I do solemnly swear that I will not 
throw a card or drink a drop of liquor while 
I am gone." 

Sam did as he was asked, and with that 
promise he left the little town of Hannibal 
to seek his fortune in the big world. He first 



216 REAL AMERICANS 

went to St. Louis and secured work on a news- 
paper there. Then, as soon as he earned 
enough money for the trip, he took his first 
train ride, traveling to New York City which 
to the country lad proved a place of wonders. 

He secured work in a printing office at five 
dollars a week, with which salary he managed 
to pay his expenses and even save a fifty-cent 
piece now and then. 

When not busy at the printing office he went 
sight-seeing about the city, and sometimes 
even to the theater. He wrote home of the 
marvelous sights of New York, among them 
being the Crystal Palace which was filled 
every day with twice as many people as there 
were in the whole town of Hannibal! 

He was homesick at times — this eighteen- 
year-old youth with keen eyes and a shock of 
curly auburn hair — but he did not give in to 
the longing to see his family. 

After some months he went to Philadelphia, 
where he got a job as compositor in a printing 
office. There, as in New York, he spent his 
spare hours sight-seeing, reading, and making 
many friends through his kindly, merry ways. 
He also tried writing articles for different 



MARK TWAIN 217 

newspapers, but failed to get them printed. 
But, through all his experiences, he remained 
true to the promise he had made his mother, 
though the young men with whom he worked 
drank freely and constantly put temptation in 
his way. 

After some months in Philadelphia young 
Clemens made his way back to New York, 
where he stayed and worked for a while 
longer. Then, one day, after more than a 
year's absence from his home he appeared 
there once more, merry as ever, and with a 
gun in his hand. 

"You wouldn't let me buy a gun," he said, 
turning to Orion. "So I bought one myself, 
and I am going to use it now in self-defense." 
With this joke, he threw himself into his 
happy mother's arms. 

After jolly days with his loved ones, he 
started out in search of fresh adventures in the 
city of Cincinnati, where he once more worked 
at his printer's trade. In his boarding house 
there was a Scotchman with whom he quickly 
became friends. This man was a great reader 
and had many books, so that in the long 
evenings the two spent together, the young 



218 REAL AMERICANS 

printer learned a great deal about many sub- 
jects with which he had not been familiar. 

He was not content to remain in Cincinnati 
very long because he longed to see more of the 
world. Just now South America was calling 
to him, her mighty Amazon River especially. 

"I will go there," decided Sam Clemens. 

He had saved up enough money for a trip 
down the Mississippi to New Orleans. After 
reaching that city, he believed he could 
manage somehow to go still farther. Thus 
it came about one spring day that the young 
man boarded a steamer bound for New Or- 
leans, intending when he got there to take 
another boat going to South America. 

As he sailed down the Mississippi, however, 
his boyhood love for it gripped him harder 
and harder, till his longing for South America 
faded away. 

"I would like nothing so well as tQ learn 
this river," he thought. 

With this idea he went to Mr. Bixby, the 
pilot, and offered himself as a pupil. Mr. 
Bixby shook his head. He had found "cub 
pilots," as learners were called, a good deal of 
trouble. 



MARK TWAIN 219 



When he refused Sam Clemens's request, the 
youth did not give up hope. He went on to 
tell Mr. Bixby about himself, of his trade as 
a printer, and of the plan he had formed of 
going to South America. The pilot began to 
be interested. 

"What makes you pull your words — that 
way?" he asked, referring to Sam's drawl. 

"You'll have to ask my mother," Sam 
answered, speaking even more slowly than 
usual. "She pulls hers, too." 

At that Mr. Bixby began to laugh and feel 
friendly at the same time. 

Well, the upshot of the talk was that Sam 
became a cub pilot, with hard work ahead of 
him, but with plenty of happiness thrown in. 
Before him was the task of learning how to 
steer a steamer through twelve hundred miles 
of the big river. He must fix in his mind the 
names of the smallest towns along the way, 
as well as the largest. Every little island 
which he passed must also be known; every 
turn, every shallow, as well. It was a tre- 
mendous task. 

Mr. Bixby did his best to help his young 
assistant who showed himself quick of mind, 



220 REAL AMERICANS 

persevering, and determined. At the start he 
gave young Clemens good advice. 

"My boy," he said, "you must get a little 
memorandum book and every time I tell you 
a thing put it down right away. There's only 
one way to be a pilot, and that is to get this 
entire river by heart. You have to know it 
just like a, b, c." 

Sam followed this advice and made such 
rapid progress that in due time he was looked 
upon as one of the most expert pilots on the 
Mississippi. Happy years followed, during 
which the young man was busy not only in 
guiding steamers on their way, but in studying 
the passengers who traveled in them. In this 
kind of schooling he made great progress. 

It was not meant that Sam Clemens should 
be a river pilot always. The opening of the 
Civil War put an end to such a life because 
the trips of steamboats on the Mississippi were 
brought to a sudden stop. 

"What shall I do next?" was the question 
that now arose in Sam's mind. 

It was shortly answered. Orion received a 
position from the Government at Washington ; 



MARK TWAIN 221 

he was to go into the far West to be Secretary 
of the Territory of Nevada. 

"Suppose I go with you as your private 
secretary," proposed Sam. "If you will take 
me, I will pay the expenses of our journey 
there." 

The offer was gladly accepted and the two 
brothers started on their journey west. It was 
a long and difficult trip through almost un- 
known country, because there were no over- 
land railways on which to travel in those days. 

Sam Clemens enjoyed it, however, because 
it was full of adventure, and in due course 
of time he and Orion reached the territory of 
Nevada, where they found the people greatly 
excited because gold and silver had been 
recently discovered among the mountains 
around them. 

Before long Sam, too, became excited, and 
with three new acquaintances started for the 
mining region. Soon, he firmly believed, he 
would become a rich man. 

For more than two hundred miles the party 
traveled through snow and storms, in 
constant danger of encounters with savage 
Indians. They met packs of wolves from 



222 REAL AMERICANS 

which they had to flee, and other dangers, too, 
beset them. In all their hardships young 
Clemens was the life of the party. His jokes 
and pranks .kept the hearts of the others light. 
Why should he not feel gay, when he thought 
of the precious ore waiting to be dug? Alas! 
his dreams did not come true in that first, or 
in any other of his mining experiences, and the 
time came when he felt it was of no use to 
remain longer in a mining camp. 

Letters he had written home had already 
been published in a newspaper in Keokuk 
where the family now lived. Some of these 
letters had been reprinted through Orion's 
efforts in The Territorial Enterprise, and 
signed "Josh." They were amusing and were 
, much liked by the rough Westerners who read 
them. 

Money was getting very scarce in Sam's 
pockets when an offer came to him from the 
editor of the Enterprise. He was asked to 
become a reporter for that paper. The young 
man did not agree to this at once. It seemed 
hard to be a mere reporter when he had had 
such high hopes of shortly becoming a rich 
man by discovering gold. 



MARK TWAIN 223 

But he soon decided that he would better 
go to Virginia City and accept the post which 
had been offered him on the Enterprise. He 
found very soon that he had decided rightly, 
as he quickly became a favorite writer of 
the people in Virginia City and thereabouts. 
They liked fun, and they enjoyed jokes, and 
the young reporter supplied these abundantly. 

His fame spread quickly. He began to 
send articles to eastern newspapers as well 
as those in the West. They were liked so 
much that he felt his writing should be signed. 

"What name do you wish it to be?" asked 
the editor of the Enterprise. "Josh?" 

"No," was the answer. "I want to sign my 
articles, 'Mark Twain.' " 

As young Clemens said this, he was think- 
ing of his pilot days on the Mississippi, when 
the man who took the soundings often called 
out "Mark twain," meaning twelve feet. 

"It was always a pleasant sound for a pilot 
to hear on a dark night," Sam told the editor. 
"It meant safe water." 

Thus it came about that the afterwards 
famous author, Samuel Langhorne Clemens, 
was thenceforth spoken of as "Mark Twain." 



224 REAL AMERICANS 

When he had worked as a reporter for some 
time in Virginia City he went to San Fran- 
cisco, where there was a bigger field for a 
young writer, and where he soon became 
known to a much larger number of readers, 
There, in San Francisco, he met the noted 
humorist Artemus Ward, and the two became 
strong friends. 

During a vacation which Sam Clemens 
took while living in San Francisco, he went 
up into the mountains to engage in pocket 
mining. Among the men he met there was a 
slow-going fellow who often told tiresome, 
lengthy stories to any folks who would listen 
to him. 

One day, when young Clemens was with 
him, he told an amusing tale about a jumping 
frog, but he did not seem to see the humor of 
it. His hearer did, and after he went back to 
San Francisco, he wrote the story very 
cleverly, making it still more laugh-provoking 
than when he had heard it. 

"Jim Smiley and his Jumping Frog" was 
shortly published in a newspaper. The day it 
appeared, November 18, 1865, proved to be 
one of great importance in the life of its 



MARK TWAIN 225 

writer. Its readers welcomed it with delight. 
It was copied in one western paper after an- 
other, and after that papers in the East copied 
it also. The name of Mark Twain shortly 
spread over the United States, and at its men- 
tion, people smiled at thought of the man who 
could make others laugh and be glad. The 
first big step towards world-fame had been 
taken by the young reporter. 

Before long he had the opportunity of 
going to the Sandwich Islands to travel about 
the country, and write for his readers in Cali- 
fornia descriptions of the people and the 
beautiful sights he saw there. 

These letters proved to be so interesting 
that soon after his return to the United States, 
as he needed money badly, the thought entered 
his mind that he could entertain others not 
only by writing, but by lecturing about what 
he had seen. 

"What easier way can there be of earning 
money than by lecturing on the Sandwich 
Islands?" he asked himself. 

The lecture was given and met with tre- 
mendous success. Other lectures rapidly fol- 
lowed, both in California and Nevada. 



226 REAL AMERICANS 

Crowded audiences attended, all ready to be 
amused, and they were not disappointed. 

Mr. Clemens, with plenty of money in his 
pockets, next decided to take a trip around the 
world. But first of all, he wished to see his 
home folks. So, taking a steamer from San 
Francisco, he sailed down to the Isthmus of 
Panama, which he crossed, and then boarded 
a steamer bound for New York City. 

From New York he hurried to St. Louis, 
where his mother and his sister Pamela were 
living. As he appeared before them after his 
long absence, did he seem changed — this fine- 
looking man, now thirty-one years old, who 
was being praised all over the country as a 
witty writer and speaker — from the boy who 
had left home only a few years before? No, 
to them he was the same dear, loving Sam who 
could tell the funniest jokes with the gravest 
of faces. No longer need his pious mother 
fear lest he come to some bad end, as she had 
feared in his boyhood. Instead, her heart must 
have been full of pride as she looked at this 
handsome son who was fast "making good" 
in the world. 



MARK TWAIN 227 

While in St. Louis Mr. Clemens heard of 
an excursion soon to set out for Palestine. 

"I will give up my trip around the world," 
he decided, "and will join the party bound for 
the Holy Land." 

This he did, but before he sailed out of 
New York Harbor on that delightful excur- 
sion, his first book, "The Celebrated Jump- 
ing Frog of Calaveras County, and Other 
Sketches" was published and met with a good 
sale. 

Now you must certainly hear of something 
which happened while Mr. Clemens was 
away and which proved to be of great im- 
portance to him in after years. A fellow 
traveler, Charles Langdon, showed him the 
picture of his youngest sister, a delicate, beau- 
tiful girl named Olivia. 

Mr. Clemens was so stirred by the beauty 
of the girl's face that he begged to look at the 
picture again and again. 

"The time must come," he said to himself, 
"when I shall meet Olivia Langdon." 

He did meet her, but not as soon as he re- 
turned to New York, because he hurried from 



228 REAL AMERICANS 

there to Washington to become private secre- 
tary to Senator Stewart. 

While in Washington he wrote letters for 
the newspapers, describing his travels across 
the ocean. He also found time to accept 
many invitations to dinners and receptions, 
where he was often asked to make speeches. 
He was now a popular, much sought man. In 
the meantime his book was being largely sold 
in England as well as in the United States, 
while his travel letters were bringing him 
more and more fame. 

During his life in Washington he went on 
to New York to spend the Christmas holidays, 
and then at last his wish to meet the girl whose 
picture he had so much admired was granted. 

He found she was all he had dreamed her 
to be, — fine and beautiful in nature and in 
face. In his eyes she was almost a saint. You 
can easily guess what followed. Before 
many months from their first meeting Olivia 
Langdon and Samuel Clemens were betrothed, 
and about a year afterwards they became man 
and wife. 

Such a happy wedding day that was! The 
young couple loved each other dearly; and 



MARK TWAIN 229 

besides, worldly fortune was smiling upon 
them. Mr. Clemens had written a second 
book, "Innocents Abroad," and it had brought 
him fame in Europe and the United States, 
as well as large money returns. He had been 
giving many lectures which had also met with 
great success. He was already looked upon 
far and wide as one of America's greatest 
humorists. 

Mr. and Mrs. Clemens had their first home 
in Buffalo, New York, in a handsome house 
which the bride's father gave them. It had 
been kept as a surprise from the young hus- 
band till he entered it with his bride and 
went with her from one beautifully furnished 
room to another. 

He did not realize that this home was a gift 
till his wife said: "Don't you understand, 
Youth, don't you understand? It is ours — all 
ours — everything — a gift from father!" 

"Youth" was the name Mrs. Clemens often 
used in speaking to her husband. 

Months filled with joy followed for the 
young man and his wife. Mrs. Clemens, 
writing to her sister about her life, said, "Sue, 
we are two as happy people as you ever saw. 



230 REAL AMERICANS 

Our days seem to be made up only of sun- 
light, with no shadow in them." 

After a while Mr. Clemens ended his work 
as a writer for newspapers in Buffalo, and 
he and his young wife then decided to move 
to the beautiful city of Hartford, Connecticut, 

Accordingly a handsome house was built 
there, and in the new home Mr. and Mrs. 
Clemens settled themselves as quickly as pos- 
sible. Before this a little son had come to 
bless them, but he was a very delicate baby 
and lived only a few months after reaching 
Hartford. 

Except for this loss, Mr. and Mrs. Clemens 
had much to bring them joy. They had 
quickly gathered about them a host of friends. 
Chief among these, perhaps, was the young 
minister, Mr. Joseph Twitchell, who was 
afterwards the delightful companion often 
referred to in Mark Twain's "A Tramp 
Abroad." Among other dear friends were 
the writer, Charles Dudley Warner, and his 
talented wife, and Mrs. Harriett Beecher 
Stowe, the author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin." 

In course of time three little daughters were 
born, Susie, Clara and Jean. To add to the 



MARK TWAIN 231 

happiness in the house there were often guests 
in the family when Mr. Clemens ever showed 
himself a merry and delightful host. 

Before many years distinguished people 
from all over the world began to seek the now 
famous writer "Mark Twain," feeling that 
it was an honor to know him. He had great 
reason to be a proud and happy man. 

Of course, there were many hours when he 
was busy with his writing, because his brain 
was ever at work spinning tales that would 
bring joy and laughter to his readers. At 
such times his children knew he must not be 
disturbed. But when he appeared among 
them, ready for a frolic or to tell them stories, 
then they were happy indeed. Why, they felt 
sure he could make up a story about anything. 

Suppose they held up a picture before him 
with the command, "Make up something 
about this." The command was sure to be 
obeyed. 

Or suppose they mentioned the name of 
some animal and asked fcr a fairy .tale about 
it. Forthwith, to their delight, a wonderful 
story was spun for them on the subject they 
had chosen. 



232 REAL AMERICANS 

At first Mr. Clemens had a handsome room 
in the home for his study. But after a while 
he gave this up to the little folks as a play- 
room and when he wished to write he sought 
a room he had set apart for himself in the 
stable. 

Afterwards he made the billiard room on 
the top floor of the house into a study. He 
was a great lover of billiards, and it was an 
easy matter to turn from his work table, when 
he was tired of writing, to indulge in his 
favorite game. 

Unlike most authors, he wrote far less in 
winter than in summer. During the cold 
months of the year he usually planned his 
books and gave their construction much 
thought. Then, as the days grew warmer, he 
was ready to settle down to hard work. There 
was no place he liked better for doing this 
than at Quarry Farm in Elmira, New York, 
where Mrs. Clemens's sister and her husband 
had their home. 

When June came around, the Clemens 
family made ready, year after year, for a sum- 
mer's outing at beautiful Quarry Farm. 

Mr. Clemens did not have his study in the 



MARK TWAIN 233 

house there because he might be disturbed. 
So a summerhouse was built a little way from 
the home at the top of a small peak of land. 
It was almost entirely of glass, and fashioned 
much like a pilot house such as Mr. Clemens 
had looked out from countless times during 
his life on the Mississippi. There the great 
author betook himself every morning after 
breakfast; and there he wrote busily till a 
horn sounded in the late afternoon, calling 
him to dinner. 

The rest of the day was given up to his 
family, and jolly hours they passed with him. 
The children were treated to many a wonder- 
ful tale on summer evenings, but there was 
one kind of story which they specially liked. 
It was about cats, sometimes real ones, because 
Quarry Farm boasted many cats of which Mr. 
Clemens was very fond. More often, perhaps, 
the cats were created by the story-teller's lively 
imagination. 

As for the grown-ups who had the privi- 
lege of Mr. Clemens's companionship, they 
felt that his spoken words were even more 
entertaining than his writings. He was so 
wise and so brilliant that his sentences were 



234 REAL AMERICANS 



like diamonds. He surprised his listeners by 
constantly unexpected flashes of wit. 

In fact, no one ever could feel sure just 
what "Mark Twain" would say or do next. 
The story is told, for instance, of a call he 
made on Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe in Hart- 
ford. She was about to take a trip to Florida, 
and Mr. Clemens hurried over to her house 
one morning to bid her good-by. 

When he got home his wife, looking up at 
him, exclaimed, "Why, Youth, you haven't 
on any collar and tie!" 

He did not answer, but went to his room, 
where he selected the articles which had been 
missing in his dress and did them up in a 
paper. Then, after writing a brief note to go 
with the package, he sent it over to Mrs. 
Stowe by a servant. 

This was the note, "Herewith receive a call 
from the rest of me." 

On reading it Mrs. Stowe was much amused 
and sent back a witty reply, asking if in 
extreme cases a man might not send his hat, 
coat and shoes, and be excused from appearing 
in person altogether. 

As years passed by, Mr. Clemens became a 



MARK TWAIN 235 

great traveler. He went to Europe with his 
family a number of times, often making his 
home for several months in some interesting 
spot in England, Germany or Italy. 

In the meantime he gathered material for 
books of travel, such as "A Tramp Abroad" 
and "The Innocents Abroad." These proved 
to be different from most books of the kind 
because of this rare gift of the writer : he had 
the power of seeing the laughable side of 
every happening, and of making others also 
see it. 

None of his books probably have given 
more pleasure to both old and young folks 
than "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" in 
which Mr. Clemens described many of his 
own boyhood experiences in Hannibal. And 
just as he was the real Tom he told about in 
that story, so was his forbidden playmate, Ben 
Blankenship, the real hero of "The Adven- 
tures of Huckleberry Finn," the writing of 
which followed "Tom Sawyer." 

Among his other books which have brought 
entertainment to millions of people are 
"Roughing It," in which he pictured some 
of his youthful mining experiences in the wild 



236 REAL AMERICANS 

West, and "Life on the Mississippi," in 
which he humorously described his life as a 
pilot on the big river. 

Quite different from these are "The Prince 
and the Pauper" in which the writer imagined 
for us what life would be if a rich boy and a 
poor one changed places. It is such a vivid 
story that it has been made into a play which 
you will certainly like to see if you have not 
already done so. 

And then there is "Joan of Arc" which Mr. 
Clemens did not write till he became an old 
man, but into which he put his whole heart. 
You will remember how he was touched as a 
boy when he picked up in the street the stray 
leaves of a book telling about the lovely Maid 
of Orleans. For nearly fifty years he ten- 
derly treasured the thought of her in his mind. 
Then, Ht last, he wrote her story with deeper 
feeling and more beautifully than it had ever 
been written before. 

Success followed success for the great 
author. He not only wrote many books, but 
from time to time he lectured in different 
parts of the world before enthusiastic audi- 
ences. His praises were sung everywhere. 



MARK TWAIN 237 



Yet he remained untouched by them and was 
never so happy as when with his devoted wife 
and daughters in the New England home. 

How his children adored him! Thirteen- 
year-old Susie started to write a life of her 
father and in this she said, "He is the loveliest 
man I ever saw or hope to see, and oh, so 
absent-minded I" 

Though Mr. Clemens had many years of 
happiness, trouble and sorrow came to him 
in course of time. 

To begin with, when he was sixty years old, 
the publishing house of which he was a mem- 
ber failed, and both his wife's fortune and his 
own were lost. This made him very unhappy, 
both for his wife's sake and that of other 
people who had invested in the business. 

"Their money must be paid back to them," 
he declared. 

"You are not called upon to do this," said 
his friends. "You can easily settle for fifty 
cents on a dollar." 

But Mr. Clemens had too high a sense of 
honor to be influenced by such advice. 

"All must be paid back," he insisted. 

Yet how could he do it, when the amount of 



238 REAL AMERICANS 

money needed to do this was immense? It 
looked like an impossible undertaking. 

"I will make a lecture tour around the 
world," he announced, after thinking the 
matter over carefully. "With the money I 
raise in this way and through the sale of my 
books, I hope to get all my debts paid off by 
the end of four years." 

With a brave heart he made plans for the 
long journey. He decided to take his wife 
and daughter Clara with him, so they might 
see the strange lands he was going to visit, — 
Australia, New Zealand, India and Africa. 
He started out on the big undertaking in the 
year 1895, and in the autumn of 1900 he was 
back in the United States with a light heart 
because every penny of his debts had been 
paid. He had lectured in many lands. He 
had written, "Following the Equator," which 
described his travels and which met with tre- 
mendous sales the world over. Honors, such 
as are given few but people of royal family, 
had been bestowed upon him in Europe where 
he had made a long stay. 

And now, on reaching his homeland, he had 
a glorious welcome from his countrymen. 



MARK TWAIN 239 



Proud indeed were they because of his long, 
brave fight with debt and his noble conquest. 
Praises of this, the most famous American 
author, rang throughout the land. 

But in the midst of all his pleasure there 
was a feeling of sadness in his heart because 
there was one dear face which could not smile 
its welcome upon him. It was that of his 
lovely, gifted daughter Susie, who had died 
during his absence. 

The wound made by her death never quite 
healed. Other suffering was added when his 
loved wife, to whom he had turned for sym- 
pathy and advice in all his work, was taken 
from him after a long illness. This great loss 
left Mr. Clemens very lonely. He did not 
allow himself to brood over his sorrow, how- 
ever, but with courage still good he kept on 
with his writing, winning new laurels every 
year. 

One of the greatest honors of his life came 
to him when he was over seventy years old. 
He had already received degrees from Yale 
University and various colleges in the United 
States. But now he was asked to cross the 
ocean to be given the degree of Doctor of 



2 4 o REAL AMERICANS 

Literature by the great University of Oxford! 

What a surprise and delight it was to the 
man who had once been a river pilot! "It is 
worth a journey to Mars to get a degree from 
Oxford," he told one of his friends. 

So he joyfully set sail for England, where 
he was welcomed with every possible honor. 
He was entertained there by the King himself, 
and was carried to Oxford in a train used by 
the royal family. 

Along the way crowds gathered to cheer the 
name of the great funmaker, Mark Twain. 
And then, when the University was reached 
and he stood before the vast audience to re- 
ceive his degree, a tremendous shout arose 
from the students gathered there. What else, 
indeed, could lively young fellows do but 
shout, when they faced the man who had 
written the stirring adventures of Tom Sawyer 
and Huckleberry Finn — yes, and who was 
none other than Tom Sawyer grown up? 

After his return from England, Mr. Cle- 
mens passed his time in various places. Some- 
times he lived in New York, sometimes at a 
lovely new home which had been built in 
Redding, and which he called Stormfleld. 



MARK TWAIN 241 

He also made trips to Bermuda, hoping to 
gain strength because his health was failing. 

In the meantime his daughter Clara mar- 
ried a great musician and went to her new 
home in Europe, and his daughter, Jean, who 
was very delicate, died suddenly at Stormfield. 

Soon after her death Mr. Clemens sailed to 
Bermuda to spend the winter there. He came 
back a very sick man, and a week after he 
reached home he passed peacefully away on 
April 21, 1 910. To the very end he had shown 
his merry nature, his sense of humor, and his 
kindly thought for others. 

Samuel Langhorne Clemens was a man who 
made himself. He loved freedom. He hated 
sham. He was honest and upright and of high 
honor. He was a true friend and a devoted 
son, husband and father. He was unspoiled 
by praise. He was a real American. 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 

The Man Who Lent a Hand 

YOU like stories filled with wonderful 
adventures, do you not, of heroes brave in 
battle, of discoverers who have overcome 
great difficulties, of inventors who have mas- 
tered the elements? 

Just now you shall hear of none of these. 
And yet this tale should be of deep interest 
because it is of a man who worked daily 
marvels through the simple yet magical power 
which he possessed of "lending a hand." 

This man, Edward Everett Hale, was born 
in 1822, a few years before Mark Twain first 
opened his eyes. His early home was quite 
different, it may be said, from that of the 
Giver of Mirth. It was very comfortable 
and almost luxurious for those days, and was 
situated in the heart of "Good Old Boston 
Town," with the waves of the Atlantic Ocean 
pouring into many an inlet which is to-day 

242 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 243 

filled in with earth and covered with rows of 
tall buildings. 

The little Boston lad was named for his 
mother's uncle, the statesman and orator Ed- 
ward Everett. As he grew up to better under- 
standing he must have felt honored in having 
such a distinguished relative. But even when 
very tiny, he could understand why he should 
be proud of his father's being the namesake of 
the Revolutionary hero, Nathan Hale. 

"How bravely he fought for the freedom of 
the United States I" Edward probably thought. 
"And when the British shot him as a spy, how 
grandly he died! Surely no one could have 
spoken nobler words than he when at the last 
moment he said, 'I regret that I have only one 
life to give for my country.' " 

Without doubt the boy, while thinking of 
this great-uncle, felt a longing to become as 
true an American as he. 

Little Edward began to go to school when 
he was two years old. 

"What a remarkable child he must have 
beenl" you say to yourself at once. 

But he was not so remarkable as one would 
think. The fact was, his older brother, 



244 REAL AMERICANS 

Nathan, and his two older sisters were already 
in school, and he cried at being separated 
from them and begged to join them. 

"He shall have his wish. It will do him 
no harm to go to a dame school," decided 
his parents, after talking over the matter. 

Accordingly they sent him for several hours 
each day to be under the care of a pleasant 
young girl after she had agreed to receive the 
little two-year-old in her school of small 
children. Of course, she couldn't expect to 
teach much to such a tiny tot. How could 
she? But Edward had spelling and reading 
lessons, though he never afterwards remem- 
bered just how or when he learned to read, 
and it therefore seemed to him as if he had 
always been able to do so. 

Of course, those early lessons occupied only 
a part of the hours spent at the dame school. 
So Edward sometimes amused himself by 
watching the sunbeams that made their way 
between the window shutters and danced upon 
the floor and walls of the schoolroom. 

There was still other entertainment for 
him. As it happened, the floor of the school- 
room was kept strewn with sand, after a 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 245 

fashion quite common in those days. Nothing 
could have been more entertaining to a small 
boy obliged to keep quiet in his seat than to 
round the sand beneath him into little piles 
with his feet and then prick pretty patterns in 
the tops with a pin or broom corn. 

There was still another joy for little Edward 
at the dame school. That was the receiving 
of a prize on Saturday if he had been good all 
the week. He was allowed to choose it for 
himself out of a collection of bows of colored 
ribbon which the teacher brought out of the 
closet at each week-end. It might be pink or 
red, or yellow, or blue, whichever color he 
asked for, and it was pinned on his clothing 
before he started for home in a place where 
every one would be sure to notice it. 

But his teacher also kept black bows, the 
sight of which was enough to make the small 
boy shudder. One of these was placed on any 
child who had been naughty. He was then 
obliged to wear it home, no matter how 
unhappy he might feel, or how hard he might 
cry. Once, so Edward heard, a boy had been 
so wicked, so daring, as to take off his black 
bow after leaving the schoolroom and actually 



246 REAL AMERICANS 

trample it under his feet. But this was really 
too dreadful a story to believe, he was sure. 

Once, as he afterwards remembered, he was 
punished, but in a different manner. He had 
to sit by himself in a big yellow chair in the 
middle of the schoolroom I It was quite 
dreadful, especially as he did not know what 
wrong he had done to make him deserve such 
a disgrace. 

When he was five years old he was sent to a 
school kept by a man who was kind and good- 
natured, but who did not know much about 
teaching. Edward, consequently, did not 
learn much more than he had learned at the 
dame school. He enjoyed himself, at any rate, 
and sometimes got into mischief, after the 
manner of boys. 

The teacher, whom his pupils spoke of as 
"Simple," sometimes came to school late. So, 
one day, when he did not appear on time, the 
small but daring Edward said to himself : "I'll 
have some fun. I'll show Simple what we 
think of him." 

Accordingly, when the master at last walked 
into the schoolroom, he found that Edward, 
with all the airs of a teacher, had called the 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 247 

boys to order and was holding a mock recita- 
tion. 

The lively little fellow continued to go to 
this same school for three years, at the end 
of which time he entered the Boston Latin 
School, where he was expected to do hard, 
steady work in his studies. 

He never enjoyed school. Yet he thought: 
"Children need to go there, so it is the right 
thing to do. I will therefore try to make the 
best of it." 

And he did make the best of it, and learned 
so rapidly that he was quickly advanced far 
above other boys of his own age. 

Little as he cared for the hours spent in a 
schoolroom, he dearly loved to read. What 
delight he had in "Grimm's Fairy Tales 1" 
What wonderful sights he looked upon in his 
mind as he turned the pages! For the time 
being they were real to him and Boston was 
far away. 

And then what fun he had devouring the 
stories written by people who had looked upon 
strange sights and dared the dangers of treach- 
erous seas! The little boy in the comfortable 
New England home was lost sight of and in 



248 REAL AMERICANS 

imagination Edward became the brave ex- 
plorer, the knight in his castle, the wan- 
derer in a tropical forest where serpents 
hissed, and monkeys grinned at him from the 
tree tops. 

Though Edward did not love the hours 
spent in school, he always enjoyed getting 
there early because of the fun of playing tag 
and talking with his mates before the bell rang 
to come inside. One such morning some of 
the boys arrived with great news! An omni- 
bus, drawn by four horses, had passed them. 
Such a big, long vehicle it was, declared the 
boys. It was wonderful to look at. As his 
mates described it, the first one ever seen in the 
streets of Boston, Edward was filled with as 
much astonishment as if the very chariot 
which carried Cinderella to the ball had 
appeared. 

In those days, you must bear in mind, people 
rode in chaises. Neither electric nor even 
horse cars had been heard of, nor did a single 
steam train enter or leave the town. More- 
over, the principal streets were paved with 
cobblestones and were lighted by lamps. The 
houses were lighted in the same way. A very 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 249 

different Boston it was from the bustling, 
noisy city we know to-day. 

Outside of school hours Edward was hap- 
pily busy in many ways. He took lessons in 
gymnastics; he learned to ride horseback; and 
many a happy afternoon he spent on a hand- 
some horse owned by his father, while his 
parents rode beside him in a chaise. You per- 
haps have seen the picture of one of those 
old-fashioned vehicles, with its two big wheels, 
and its deep hood almost hiding from sight 
the people on the seat beneath. 

Then, too, there was the swimming school 
which Edward entered the summer he was 
nine years old. What sport it was for the 
slender little lad to plunge into the cool water 
on a hot day and, fastened to a rope for safety, 
swing out into the depths! He was not quick 
in learning to swim because his muscles were 
not strong. But he persevered bravely for 
several months till the time came when he 
felt as much at home in the water as on the 
land. 

As soon as spring opened Edward and his 
mates went often to the old historic Common 
to play marbles, fly kites and roll hoops. 



250 REAL AMERICANS 

There were cows feeding on the Common 
under the elms, but there were not many of 
them, and they did not bother the boys. 

Sometimes the children fished for horned- 
pout in the Frog Pond; but the sport which 
Edward enjoyed best of all was playing "post- 
office." When he and his chums got ready for 
this game, they divided among themselves 
some tiny "newspapers" which they had made 
by cutting up full-sized newspapers supplied 
by Edward who, as the son of an editor, was 
always able to furnish them. 

Then, each with a bundle of mail which he 
pretended was very precious, the boys started 
off, driving their hoops as they ran to deposit 
their papers in various hiding places which 
they had dug in the ground of near-by streets. 
These hiding places, of course, they called 
post-offices. 

You can see from this that our small hero 
must have been interested in his father's busi- 
ness. In fact, he went so often to Mr. Hale's 
printing establishment and took such interest 
in the work of bringing out the Advertiser that 
he afterwards said he "was cradled in the 
sheets of the daily newspaper." 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 251 

This was not far from true. At his father's 
offices he learned to set type soon after he was 
first able to read, and he began to write short 
articles which his father printed in the Adver- 
tiser when he was still a child. Why, he trans- 
lated something he read in a French paper, 
which was published in the Advertiser before 
he reached his eleventh birthday. 

But were the boy's pleasures all outside his 
own home? By no means. It was there, in 
fact, that he chose to spend most of his spare 
hours because his parents made it so attractive 
to him. Many a day when school was over, 
his mates would say : "Come. Let's go down to 
the wharves to see the shipping." 

The proposal would sound quite tempting 
for the moment. But as soon as his home was 
reached, any longing to visit the wharves gen- 
erally vanished, because there was so much 
better fun close at hand. At home he was free 
to do many interesting things, and have as 
many of his friends as he liked to share his 
pleasure with him. 

To begin with, there were parallel bars in 
the yard, and a high cross-pole to climb on. 
And there was a chemical outfit in the house 



252 REAL AMERICANS 

with which the boys could make all sorts of 
delightful experiments. And there, too, were 
tools and whalebone, and pulleys, and every- 
thing else needful with which to build all 
sorts of wonderful things. Perhaps a toy 
locomotive (in those days locomotives were 
rare objects in the United States) was at- 
tempted, or a machine which was to have 
perpetual motion. But there were no store- 
made toys at hand to play with. Edward 
would have scorned them. 

"It is a hundred times better sport," he 
would have told you, "to make things for 
oneself." 

In that happy home where Edward's wise 
parents guided, instead of drove their chil- 
dren, the most glorious place of all was the 
garret. There it was that the boy and his 
brothers fought naval battles on floats which 
they made themselves. There it was that 
they shaped furniture for their sisters' doll 
houses; and set up Leyden jars and sent tele- 
graphic messages to each other from one side 
of the garret to the other. And it was from 
the garret of one of the houses where the 
Hale family lived that Edward was able to 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 253 

climb up the stairs to the roof, where he 
could sit and look down upon the streets far 
below. 

Little reading was done in the garret 
because the Hale children were allowed to go 
there only in the daytime. But in long eve- 
ning hours Edward gathered with his brothers 
and sisters around the lamp-lighted table in 
the living room downstairs and devoured one 
fascinating book after another. Or perhaps 
he joined with the others in playing games, 
— "teetotum" was a favorite one — or in draw- 
ing pictures and making tiny magazines out 
of what he drew and wrote. 

Sometimes Daniel Webster or Edward 
Everett, or some other wise and thoughtful 
person would join the family circle, and 
Edward would listen to what his elders were 
talking about. Perhaps it was an interesting 
book, or some important need of the country, 
or a law which ought to be made. Boy as he 
was, he thought a good deal about what he 
heard, and often made up his own mind very 
positively in the matter talked about. At 
school he thought things out in the same way; 
and queer as it may seem, he couldn't under- 



254 REAL AMERICANS 

stand why his opinions weren't just as impor- 
tant as those of his teachers. 

From what you have now heard of 
Edward's boyhood days, you can see that he 
was getting an "all around" education. At 
school he had his studies; in the outdoor 
world his body was trained and kept healthy 
by plenty of physical exercise; and at home 
he read, played games, or busied his mind 
with inventions. 

"You should always do whatever you are 
able to do," Edward's parents impressed upon 
him. At the same time they showed that they 
were more pleased by his behaving well than 
by securing high standing in his studies. We 
can see this when we think of what happened 
at the end of his first month at the Latin 
School. He had received a report showing 
that he stood only ninth in his class of fifteen. 

"I dread to show this report to my mother," 
he said to himself. "She will not like my 
having such a low rank." 

But when she had examined the report, he 
found, to his relief, that she did not seem 
troubled in the least. 

She merely said r "Oh, that is no matter. 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 255 

Probably the other boys are brighter than you. 
God made them so, and you cannot help that. 
But the report says that you are among the 
boys who behave well. That you can see to, 
and that is all I care about." 

Every year Edward had a great pleasure in 
store for him when the summer vacation 
arrived. That was the time in which his 
whole family took a trip to his grandfather's 
home in Westfield, a hundred miles from 
Boston, to make a visit. A big traveling party 
it was, because there were seven children in 
all, as well as their parents. As there were 
no steam cars to carry them in those early 
years, several days were spent jogging along 
over country roads, some of the family in the 
chaise and the rest on horseback. 

What fun it was to stop overnight at some 
tavern whose painted sign swung from a post 
in front of the building. And when at last 
the dear grandfather's house was reached, 
what sport awaited Edward and his brothers 
and sisters! Traps had to be made in which 
to catch woodchucks. Tramps over the hills 
were taken with lively cousins. Games — 
noisy ones, such as "hunt the slipper" and 



256 REAL AMERICANS 

"blind man's buff" — could be played after 
nightfall, on Sundays as well as on other days. 
Do not be shocked at reading this, because in 
that long ago in New England, the "Sabbath" 
began at sunset on Saturday and ended with 
the next sunset. Oh, joyous weeks were those 
which the lad spent in his boyhood at West- 
field, laying up a store of strength for mind 
and body. 

When Edward was thirteen years old, at 
the age when most boys to-day are getting 
ready for the High School, he entered Har- 
vard College. There was really no reason 
why he should not do so, because he had 
advanced so rapidly in school that he was 
prepared for college studies. Moreover, his 
brother Nathan, whom he dearly loved, was 
already in college and he was happiest when 
in his company. 

"Nathan will be a helpful companion for 
Edward," his parents had considered. 

So, bearing in mind that their Uncle 
Edward Everett was only thirteen when he 
entered college, and that his health was not 
injured by doing so, they decided that this 
young son should follow in his steps. 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 257 

The boy did not enjoy his college life par- 
ticularly. He was homesick from first to 
last, even though his loved Boston home was 
in the very next town and he could always 
spend his week-ends there. He studied faith- 
fully, however, and did so much good work 
in his classes that he won prizes. Moreover, 
there were many pleasant spare hours spent 
in the big college library where he read inter- 
esting novels and books of history. There 
were also rambles in the near-by country 
where he studied the wild flowers of which 
he was very fond. Sometimes, too, he played 
cricket and football with his fellow students. 
But when the time to graduate was at hand 
he was glad. He had done his best because 
he had believed he ought to do so, and he 
had won honors. But now, to his joy, he was 
free to follow his own bent. 

What was that bent? Was it writing? 
From early boyhood he had written articles 
which were printed in his father's newspaper, 
the Advertiser. At graduation he had been 
chosen as the class poet because of his ability. 
It was as natural and easy for him to write 
as to talk. 



258 REAL AMERICANS 

He had decided already, however, that the 
principal work of his life was to be along a 
different line. He would now study for the 
ministry. This was what his father expected 
of him, and it was also the strong wish of his 
mother. 

"But I will do more than what people gen- 
erally expect of a minister," he promised him- 
self. "Preaching sermons is not so important 
as helping people when they suffer in body 
or in mind. I will try to be such a helper." 

So it came about that when the youth of 
seventeen left college, he began to prepare for 
his life work. At the same time he was able 
to support himself by teaching in the Boston 
Latin School. 

He enjoyed teaching, but it was not pleasant 
to punish unruly pupils. Well did he after- 
wards remember the first whipping he gave. 
It could not be helped. The boy had dis- 
obeyed the rules of the school, and kind 
words had no effect on him. 

"It was a bad business, perfectly disgusting 
to me," young Hale wrote in his diary. "But 
it was absolutely necessary." 

During those years of teaching and study 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 259 

Edward had taken many a pleasant trip about 
New England. He was as pleased as any 
small boy when the famous Bunker Hill 
Monument had been finished, and he climbed 
the spiral stairway inside for the first time, 
and looked from the top down upon his home 
city and the sea and country around it. He 
wrote to an absent sister that it was the grand- 
est sight he had ever looked upon. 

He always had the same joy in climbing 
mountains. "My love of mountain climbing 
in my young days," he once said, "seems like 
a sixth sense. It is like my mother's love of 
flowers." 

In one such excursion his life was saved 
almost by a hair's breadth. He had climbed 
to the top of Mount Katahdin in Maine when 
a heavy fog closed in around him. As he 
slowly struggled to make his way down, he 
stopped at one point just in time to escape 
falling over a precipice. If he had taken the 
next step he would have fallen far, far below 
and would have been crushed to death. But 
it was not meant for the world to lose him 
then. 

In due time he finished his studies as a 



2 6o REAL AMERICANS 

minister, after which he spent several years 
going about from one place to another to 
help struggling churches get on a firm footing. 
He had many interesting experiences while 
doing this, but there was one which gave him 
the deepest happiness and made his life richer 
ever afterwards. 

It came about in this way: he happened to 
be spending a few days in the city of Albany 
in New York, and was having a rather dis- 
couraging time trying to do the work for 
which he had come. One day — he was feeling 
sad and lonely — he sought his dark, musty bed- 
room in the house where he was stopping and 
sat down to entertain himself by reading. 
After a while he laid the book down and 
leaned back in thought. Suddenly he realized 
that he was not alone and that he could not 
be alone. But there was no person in the 
room except himself! Why did his sadness 
leave him and joy fill his heart? Because he 
felt that God was there with him and that 
God's love was wrapping him about. 

All his cares had dropped away from him 
on the instant. "Yes," he said to himself, 
"God loves me and is closer to me than any 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 261 

human being sitting close beside me could 
possibly be." 

From that moment the young man was sure 
that he could never be lonely again, and that 
wherever he might go he would have a com- 
panion. How many people, he considered, 
were unhappy because they were lonely. He 
promised himself that for the rest of his life 
he would try to help such unhappy folks dis- 
cover what he had just discovered. When 
they once realized that they were God's chil- 
dren all would be well with them. 

In the weeks and months that followed the 
visit to Albany, Mr. Hale was busy, but very 
happy. Among other work that he did, he 
preached many sermons. His very first ser- 
mon, you may like to know, was spoken to a 
gathering of children in a Boston chapel, and 
its subject was "Little Things." Its first words 
were, "There is nothing in the world then so 
small that God does not love it." 

"Little things!" What a fitting subject for 
the young minister to choose I And why? 
Because the big work he afterwards accom- 
plished was based on just the little things that 
many people place no value upon simply 



262 PvEAL AMERICANS 

because they are small. Such people forget 
what happens when a pebble is dropped in a 
pond. At first there is only a tiny ripple 
where the pebble falls. But that ripple causes 
another ripple beyond it and another beyond 
that, and so on, till the water of the whole 
pond has been affected. 

The young minister showed the value he put 
on little things when at twenty-four he became 
settled as the pastor of a church in Worcester, 
Massachusetts. A smile for this person; a 
kind word for that; a dinner given to a poor 
beggar who came to his door; wise words of 
advice spoken to some one in doubt; loving 
sympathy shown to the suffering; seemingly 
little things like these filled every day of his 
life and made it a glorious one. Wherever 
Mr. Hale was to be found, whether at home 
or in a city street, those who drew near felt 
God's love shining through him and upon 
them. 

One thought seemed ever to be in this good 
man's mind: "We are all God's children." 

And so, realizing how much that is beauti- 
ful and noble is in the hearts of all, he had 
faith in every one he met and tried to bring 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 263 

out not selfishness, but kindness and love. Is 
it any wonder, then, that he strove in his own 
church to make the people feel like one big 
family and that each one had something im- 
portant to do for others? 

He did much work outside, as well as within, 
his church. He had come to feel as if all the 
people of the United States make up one big 
family. In it were red men and black men 
as well as white, and they were brothers. 
They should all have their rights. 

But before this could come about there 
were many wrongs to be stopped. For in- 
stance, there was slavery in this "Land of the 
Free." Tens of thousands of Negroes who 
had been brought from their African home 
to work on the plantations in the South were 
being bought and sold like animals. Some of 
them were cruelly treated. Then there were 
the Indians, many of whom were dealt with 
unjustly by agents of the American Govern- 
ment. They, too, should be treated wisely 
and with kindness. 

Besides such great questions, Mr. Hale was 
interested in the immigrants who sought a 
home in the United States. He wished that 



264 REAL AMERICANS 

more could be done to help them. He also 
turned his eyes pityingly towards the prisons 
where the inmates were often abused by the 
jailors. 

These and other sad conditions kept the 
good man thinking, studying, speaking, writ- 
ing, and doing, — helping in every way pos- 
sible to make his loved country a better 
place to live in. 

During the ten busy years he spent in 
Worcester, Mr. Hale became acquainted with 
a young girl, Miss Emily Perkins of Hartford, 
Connecticut; and as she returned his love, the 
young man and maiden were married. But 
before Mr. Hale went back to his work in 
Worcester, he and his bride took a wedding 
journey. Not in a big steamer bound for 
Europe, however, nor in a Pullman car to 
visit distant parts of the United States. No, 
they simply rode off in a chaise to explore in 
the most comfortable manner possible the 
lovely Berkshire Hills, not many miles away. 

While Mr. Hale was still in Worcester, he 
was invited by the people of large churches 
in other cities to become their pastor. But 
his own flock loved him dearly and begged 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 265 

him not to leave them. He, for his part, felt 
that there was plenty of work for him to do 
in Worcester, so he refused the invitations to 
go elsewhere. 

At last, however, he received a call which 
he felt he must not refuse. It was from a 
church in Boston, a few of whose people 
were wealthy. Most of them were young men 
and women who were struggling to make a 
living. And there were babies, oh, so many 
of them! Mr. Hale saw at once that here was 
a chance for him to do good work. More- 
over, not far from this Boston church was a 
quarter of the city where there were a great 
many poor families who needed friends and 
help in sickness and trouble. 

To Boston, therefore, he went and there, 
as the head of the church he had taken as his 
charge, he remained till almost the end of 
his life. 

Now let us see what he did there besides 
preach from his pulpit and make visits among 
the people of his congregation. 

He wrote helpful articles for magazines 
and newspapers. He lectured on important 
matters in Boston and elsewhere. He started 



266 REAL AMERICANS 

a mission school for boys and girls who lived 
in the slums not far from the church. He 
formed societies in which the members helped 
each other in different ways. And then he 
worked, oh, so hard, for the poor of the city. 
He persuaded the people of his church, who 
were already interested in helping the poor 
and unfortunate before he came among them, 
to work harder than ever in that cause as one 
united body. 

In those days, bear in mind, almost no work 
had been done for the needy save by indi- 
viduals. Hull House, with Jane Addams at 
its head, had never been thought of. Jacob 
Riis had not come to New York to bring sun- 
shine to wretched boys and girls. The Salva- 
tion Army had not been banded together. 
And so Edward Everett Hale was a pioneer 
in the noble work of making the lives of poor 
people in our cities happier and more com- 
fortable. 

He deeply enjoyed planning how his society 
was to give the needed help, and in sharing the 
work of the members. Many a time he him- 
self trudged through the streets carrying a 
load of food to some hungry family, and on 




Copyright Underwood & Underwood, N. V 
DOCTOR HALE AT WORK IN HIS LIBRARY 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 267 

winter days bundles of warm clothing for 
shivering children and their parents. With 
the gifts went tender words of sympathy which 
fed and warmed the lonely hearts of those he 
visited as the food and clothing he brought 
warmed and nourished their bodies. 

These people thought of him as a brother 
who loved them, not as the noted Boston 
minister. And indeed, as he went about on 
his errands of love, he often did not look like 
a minister. Because of this something really 
funny once happened. 

It seems that his society had arranged with 
a certain grocer that Doctor Hale should go 
to his store at any time and get what he needed 
to carry to the poor, and that it was then to be 
charged to its account. Now, one day when 
the grocer was away, a boy was left in the 
store to attend to customers. 

Pretty soon a man who was a stranger to 
him, but was no other than Doctor Hale, 
came in and asked for a peck of potatoes. 
This man wore a slouch hat; his hair was 
quite long, and he had bushy whiskers. To the 
boy's thinking he didn't look or act like a 
minister. 



268 REAL AMERICANS 

So when he said: "I preach at the church 
over yonder. We have things charged here, 
so you may add the potatoes to our account," 
the lad did not believe him, and answered: 
"I don't care what church you preach at. 
You can't have them potatoes unless you pay 
for 'em." 

How the good minister must have smiled 
"in his sleeve" over the boy's words! 

Two years after Mr. Hale began his work 
in Boston, he had a delightful three months' 
vacation in Europe. He wrote home glowing 
accounts of what he saw, in letters, and after- 
wards he wrote an interesting book describing 
his travels, which he called "Ninety Days in 
Europe." 

All the strength he gained in that vacation 
was useful when he reached home because 
his country was in sore need of helpers. 
There was bitter feeling between the North 
and South because of slavery. Could the 
United States hold together as one family? 
Or would the Southern States break away 
from the Union and still hold the Negroes as 
slaves? 

As Mr. Hale asked himself such questions 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 269 

his heart was very sad. For many years he 
had spoken and written against slavery. He 
had worked hard for the cause of the slaves. 
But now he saw he must work harder than 
ever. And even then — ah, war was threaten- 
ing between the people of our loved country! 
Yes, it was coming, coming fast. 

When at last the Civil War broke out, 
Doctor Hale felt that his chief duty was not 
in his Boston church; it was in using his 
strength and will in doing everything possible 
towards saving his country. He was soon 
busy with one outside duty after another. He 
put much of his energy into the Sanitary Com- 
mission whose care was the feeding and shel- 
tering of the soldiers. He also was a director 
of the Freedman's Aid Society. Every mo- 
ment of the longest day was spent in doing 
something which he hoped might help. He 
never seemed tired. 

"I have no time to feel tired," he might have 
told you. 

Yet he never forgot his dear wife and little 
ones. When at home he filled it with sunshine, 
and when away he found time to write to his 
children about what would interest them. 



270 REAL AMERICANS 

In one such letter which he wrote from an 
army camp in Virginia he told his little 
daughter about a visitor that entered his tent 
in the night. It was a tiny toad which had 
jumped inside out of the wet grass. 

"Then he did not like my light," Mr. Hale 
went on, "so he jumped all around the tent 
and up on the canvas to get out again. At last 
he came to the little open chink — and I shook 
the board and he hopped out." 

The war raged on, and the sky became 
darker. There were many people who did 
not see the tremendous need of keeping the 
country united. 

"They must be touched," Mr. Hale said to 
himself. "They must understand the value of 
having a country. Otherwise the United 
States may not be saved." 

What could he say or do to help bring such 
people to their senses? The way suddenly 
became clear to him: he would write a story 
about a man who in a moment of passion 
turned against his country, and for the rest 
of his life was punished by being forced to 
keep sailing over the seas and never allowed 
to step upon or hear about his native land. 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 271 

Thus it came about that "The Man With- 
out a Country" was written; and though it 
wasn't a true story, Mr. Hale made it seem 
true. So vividly was it told that the people 
who read it were filled with pity and horror 
for the wanderer. "It would be terrible," 
they now realized, "to live without a country." 
How much they were stirred through that 
story to make sacrifices that the Union might 
be saved, we will never know. But the good 
did not end there. "The Man Without a 
Country" has been read widely through all 
the years since then. And to-day its lesson is 
as strong as ever: We must stand by our 
Union. 

After peace came to the land and the slaves 
had been freed, they still needed help. Mr. 
Hale worked hard for them in the Freedman's 
Aid Society. 

He also started a magazine which he named 
Old and New, and in this he wrote many help- 
ful articles. 

At its start he said to himself, "I must write 
a story for my magazine which will lead 
people to do kind deeds for each other and 
free them from all hatred. 



272 REAL AMERICANS 

To keep doing kind deeds, no matter how 
small, — this was at the root of whatever Mr. 
Hale had himself done. 

But what should the story be which would 
rouse others to follow his example? It did 
not take him long to decide. Its name should 
be "Ten Times One is Ten," and it should 
describe the adventures of a man whom 
everyone loved because of his good deeds. 
Mr. Hale had known such a man when he 
lived in Worcester. His name was Frederick 
Greenleaf, and in his short life — he died when 
still young — he was always doing some kind- 
ness for others. 

But why was the story to be called, "Ten 
Times One is Ten"? Let us see. At the 
beginning of the tale its hero, Harry Wads- 
worth, had just died and ten of his friends, 
meeting together, told of what he had done 
for them. He had risked his life to save one 
of them from an angry mob in a mining camp. 
By his kind and brotherly words he had guided 
another to choose a good life instead of an 
evil one. And so on. Always he had shown 
himself as tender as a woman, yet as brave as 
a lion. 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 273 

What happened when each of the ten 
friends told something about Harry Wads- 
worth's goodness? This : It was proposed that 
they should form a club to carry on his work. 
But they lived far apart. They could write to 
each other, however, though they could not 
meet often together. They parted with the 
wish to give loving service and went their 
way with that wish fixed in their hearts. 

Three years passed by. During that time 
the ten friends wrote to each other, telling of 
what they had done to make other people 
happy. Such interesting letters they were! 
You would enjoy reading every one of them. 
And what do you think! Altogether, they told 
of ten times ten loving deeds and one to spare, 
— one hundred and one in all. 

Did the story end there? By no means. 
New Harry Wadsworth Clubs were formed 
among all sorts of people till by the end of six 
years there were a thousand members in all. 
In three years more there were ten thousand, 
and so on. After that the Ten Times One 
clubs spread all over the world, leaping on 
by multitudes of ten, till at last in twenty-seven 
years from the start, a thousand million people 



274 REAL AMERICANS 

— all the world, in fact — were living with this 
motto to guide them: 

"Look up and not down, 
Look forward and not back, 
Look out and not in, 
And lend a hand." 

Do you realize what kind of a world it was 
now? Evil and cruelty and selfishness had 
been driven from the earth, and in their place 
love ruled. 

It was a wonderful story, yet a very simple 
one. The best of it all was that it stirred its 
readers to follow the example of the ten 
friends, and to form Lend a Hand Clubs, Ten 
Times One Clubs, The King's Daughters, the 
Look Up Legion, the In His Name Club, and 
so on. The members of all of these bound 
themselves to work in some way for others. 
These clubs are to-day found in different parts 
of the world. They are busy in helping 
millions of people. The good they have done 
and are doing cannot be measured. And the 
start of this great and beautiful work came 
through Doctor Hale's story into which he 
had put his own beautiful spirit of helpfulness 
and his own desire to "Lend a hand." 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 275 

Right now it is worth our while to take 
note of this : No other American has done so 
much to get young folks interested in service 
for others as Edward Everett Hale. He loved 
boys and girls. He saw what beauty there 
was in their hearts. He thought : "There is no 
need for them to wait till they are grown-up 
men and women before learning how to give 
others help. I will do my best to show them 
how to lend a hand, and what joy there is in 
doing it." 

With this thought ever in mind he helped 
boys and girls, as well as older folks, in band- 
ing together for helpfulness so that their work 
was felt as it still is to-day, all over the world. 

Among the many writings of Doctor Hale 
there are amusing stories, such as "My 
Double and How He Undid Me," which 
show that he saw the funny side of life as 
well as the serious. But there is one tale 
which surely must be mentioned as a com- 
panion of "Ten Times One is Ten." It is 
beautifully told and very helpful. Doctor 
Hale called it, "In His Name." 

Though he led a most busy life helping 
others, he was always happy in his work and 



276 REAL AMERICANS 

never seemed tired. He once said, "I take 
only two complete holidays in the year — 
Christmas and Independence Day." 

As he became older he became deeply inter- 
ested in what he called a "High Court." It 
was to be a council of nations to settle any 
troubles arising between them by wise dis- 
cussion. 

"If only such a council were formed," 
thought Doctor Hale, "war and standing 
armies could be done away with." 

Alas! the good man's hope of a lasting peace 
has not yet come true, earnestly as he strove 
to have it brought about. 

He continued to work for needed reforms 
till he was over eighty years old. Then, by no 
means willing to be idle because he was an 
old man, he accepted an invitation from 
Washington to become the Chaplain of the 
United States Senate. It made him happy to 
serve in such a position, as he felt that the 
members of the Senate loved him, and that his 
prayers inspired them to do better work in 
guiding the affairs of the country. 

Moreover, Theodore Roosevelt, President 
at that time, loved and revered him. He said, 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE 277 

"So long as I am President, Edward Everett 
Hale shall be chaplain of the Senate." 

That was the last great service of Doctor 
Hale's long life. After nearly six years of 
service in Washington, he went back to his 
Massachusetts home to die quietly and peace- 
fully a few days afterwards. 

To-day his statue stands close to one of the 
entrances of the Public Gardens in Boston. It 
reminds the passers-by of the man who was 
filled with love for God and his fellow men, 
the man who never refused help to those in 
need, — to whom the Negro and the Indian, the 
prisoner convicted of guilt, the ignorant and 
the wretched poor, were felt to be his brothers 
as much as the people of wealth and learning 
and fame, because they, too, were God's 
children. 

Why did Edward Everett Hale have so 
great an influence among his fellows? Why 
was his life a blessing to his country and to 
the world? Because he expressed the spirit 
that is in the hearts of all real Americans — the 
spirit of helpfulness and love of service. 

THE END 



H 70 89 




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